The Oracle
by LizSeven
Summary: Before the onset of strategic negotiations, the Enterprise crew must glimpse their future, as shown by the mysterious Oracle. The future they are shown turns out to be much more personal than they expected. (Whole crew)
1. Chapter 1

Part I – The Oracle

The senior officers of the _Enterprise_ all looked at Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He clearly did not expect the response that he had received after he had diplomatically explained to the Assaunians that people of the Federation do not believe it is wise to learn about the future. The Emperor had chided Picard about his people's narrow understanding of time and space and had insisted that the Starfleet officers follow the tradition of all visitors to Assaunia by seeing the Oracle. The Assaunians were xenophobic and very mystical. For centuries, they would only speak with interplanetary travelers who had first had their futures shown to them by the Oracle. In this manner, the Assaunians believed, visitors to their world gained a perspective of themselves that allowed them to better understand the Assaunians.

The captain of the _Enterprise_ was the first Starfleet officer to receive permission to come to Assaunia. The timing could not have been more fortuitous. At the same time that the Assaunians were interested in opening trade with the Federation to replace the lost resources of their drought-ravaged planet, Starfleet hoped to establish a presence in Assaunian space to monitor the activities of the Maquis operating in the adjacent sector.

In the brief moments he took to ponder his dilemma, Jean-Luc Picard reached a decision. The opportunity to learn more about this fascinating, old race of people—plus Starfleet's need to watch the Maquis—easily outweighed the risk to the future posed by giving his senior officers a preview. He trusted his officers' judgments completely; if anyone would be able to carry on without contaminating the future, they would. In the alternative, he knew that there was a procedure to erase memories and he could ask his Chief Medical Officer to perform the operation on all of them.

"Very well, Emperor Gink," Picard said calmly. "We will see the Oracle."

The Emperor, a short, elaborately dressed humanoid with crimson skin and a hairless, elongated head, grinned broadly. "Good, very good," s/he said. "Follow me."

Picard's confidence in his crew was such that he only had to turn and give them a quick, sweeping look to communicate to them how he expected them to treat the view of the future they would see. He then made eye contact with the servant who approached him, as was expected, and he followed him/her and the rest of the Emperor's entourage down a dimly lit hallway. Behind him, Commander William Riker and Lieutenant Worf vigilantly scanned all sides of the hallway, the former to note as much as he could of Assaunian architecture and culture and the latter to check for any latent dangers. Lt. Commander Data, Dr. Beverly Crusher, Counselor Deanna Troi and Lt. Commander Geordi Laforge followed.

Emperor Gink stopped before a tall, ornate red door. Data recognized the Assaunian metal of which the heavy door was made. Glancing around the area unobtrusively, Worf did not detect any security risks. Troi sensed nothing from the Emperor and his/her servants but candor and an honest desire to get along with the representatives of the Federation.

"Now," Emperor Gink said, "you will enter alone, for the words of the Oracle are for you and must fall on your ears alone. I will be here to meet you when you are finished. The Oracle will let you know and open this door again for you."

S/he smiled again and stepped aside, as did the other Assaunians. One servant opened the door.

The _Enterprise _crew had been briefed on the Oracle, but nothing they had read prepared them for the sight that greeted them when the door was opened. The room appeared to be enormous, with bright pink light everywhere. Picard led them slowly through the doorway and they felt a gentle wind grow in intensity. Squinting to see anything, Picard felt a momentary alarm as he remembered the words of his Security Chief.

"Captain," Worf had said during their briefing, "although other visitors to Assaunia report that the Oracle is harmless, we still do not know what exactly the Oracle _is." _

It was true. No offworlder knew if the Oracle was a living being or a machine, a hologram or a figment of a collective imagination. For all we know, Picard thought, the Oracle could be a well-disguised carnival fortune teller. So far, the brightness of the light and the strength of the wind surpassed the data of their best descriptions.

Worf realized that the door had closed and he gestured to Riker to point this out. Crusher wished that Data and she had brought their tricorders with them, though she understood the captain's warning that to do so would have offended the Assaunians. Troi tried to sense a presence in the room with them, but could not. Only Laforge did not feel blind.

"Captain," he shouted over the wind, "I'm seeing a lot of energy and some kind of waves. . . . ."

"Explain," Picard answered.

"No explanation is necessary," a friendly voice, neither male nor female, said.

The Starfleet officers looked around but did not see any humanoid figure.

"No, you won't be able to look at me," the Oracle said. "But you will hear my words and you will see your future."

This unsettled them.

"Do not be alarmed."

They tried to relax during the windy silence that followed.

"I only needed some time to learn all about you. Now that I know you, I can show you what your future holds."

The blinding light gradually dimmed and in front of them, they saw, as if it were projected on an enormous viewscreen that wrapped around the room, the interior of a dark, stone structure. The place contained a dark, wooden desk and a large bed and included two rectangular windows through which could be seen a view of a green-gray sky.

Seated at the desk, was a man, large and dark like his furnishings, with his head in his hands.

It was Worf.

They heard a knock.

"Come in," Worf said, lifting his head up.

A young Klingon male dressed in traditional attire but without armor, timidly walked in. "Chancellor, sir?"

"Yes, Mal, what is it?" Worf answered in a half-growl, as though he were not particularly angry with the man, but not inclined to speak kindly toward him either.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we have been contacted by the _Titan._ Your guests will be arriving shortly."

"Are their rooms prepared?"

"Yes, sir, everything is ready."

Worf looked away. "I will be down . . . shortly."

"Very well, Chancellor." The man bowed and exited, leaving Worf to reflect.

The second person did not bother to knock. The _Enterprise_ crew saw the door to the bedroom open. A tall teenaged girl, who appeared to be half Klingon, based on the fewer number of ridges on her forehead, walked in undetected by the distracted occupant. Halfway to the desk, she cleared her throat.

"Father?"

Worf turned toward her quickly.

"Lash'a! I did not hear you come in."

Lash'a smiled and closed the distance between them. "Then either you are getting old and hard of hearing, Father, or I have mastered the skill of stealth."

To his right, Riker felt Worf grunt at the thought that a mere teenager could surprise him.

On the screen, the older Worf appeared indignant at his daughter's suggestion. "I was merely . . . thinking."

Lash'a stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, a gesture with which he did not appear entirely comfortable.

"Do you miss mama?" She softly asked.

Before they could realize what that question meant to them, Riker and Worf found themselves looking at Deanna Troi, who stood between the two of them. Worf and Troi were just beginning a relationship. In the alternative timeline Captain Picard had visited only a few months earlier, Troi's untimely death had driven a wedge between the two men who had cared for her the most. The captain had not mentioned that Troi and Worf had had a child. All the officers had hoped that Deanna's premature death would not occur now that the captain had altered the time line. They were saddened to see that it apparently had.

"It is only natural," Worf said to his daughter, "to miss her at times like these." He took a drink from an iron goblet on the desk. "And your mother was very close to Alexander. I would imagine that he misses her as well. Her death was difficult for all of us."

Lash'a bent over and leaned her head on Worf's shoulder, keeping her arms around him. "Do you miss K'eyhler, too? I know Alexander does."

The look on Worf's face grew even more distant and he needed to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. "K'eyhler died with honor, defending the truth against a worthless patak'h!" He took another drink. "Yes, I do wish that she had lived to see her son's wedding day."

Lash'a tightened her hug around her father, then stood up. Her eyes teared and she turned to leave, not wanting him to see her cry. "Everything will be all right, Father. It's going to be a lovely wedding." She left before Worf could think of something to say to her. His distress was palpable to those watching.

Before he could say anything to Lash'a, the male Klingon returned and said nervously, "Sir? Your guests are here. They insisted on coming up."

Worf's face brightened into a smile of sorts. The _Enterprise _crew followed his eyes to the door and saw an older Riker and Troi, in civilian clothes.

"Worf!" They both said.

"Captain, Deanna!" Worf rose and quickly walked over to them. He hugged Troi warmly and kissed her cheek, displaying none of the unease he usually felt with demonstrations of affection. Troi looked very happy, her long black hair streaked with brown, but just as attractive. Her face had aged, but not really wrinkled.

"How are you, Worf?" Riker's smile and dancing blue eyes took in his old friend as he vigorously shook his hand.

"I am well, Captain. And you?"

Riker looked at Troi quickly. "We couldn't be better. I can't think of a better occasion to get together than a wedding."

Worf seemed to look past them. "Did the children come with you?"

Troi and Riker looked at each other and she began to giggle guiltily. "No, we left them with my mother on Betazed. I know you would have liked to have seen them, but we don't get many chances to go anywhere without them." She took Riker's arm.

Watching himself on the viewscreen, with salt and pepper hair and beard, and perhaps a few more pounds around the middle, Riker could not help but feel proud. He seemed to have everything that he could want—a captaincy, friendship, children and Deanna Troi. He looked at Troi again to try to gauge her feelings about their apparent future together. She remained focused on the events unfolding on the screen, her calm face hiding any emotions she may have been feeling.

"Worf, you must be so excited!" the Troi on the viewscreen gushed. "I'm sure Alexander is, too."

Worf bristled slightly. Troi obviously sensed his inner turmoil.

"What's wrong, Worf?" She asked. "Why are you upset about the wedding?"

Worf seemed to be internally debating whether he should answer.

Riker studied his friend, looked at Troi, then returned to Worf. "Is it because she's not Klingon?" He asked carefully.

"You're afraid he won't uphold the Klingon traditions that mean so much to you," Troi surmised.

Worf looked away. "He will be living in a human colony—" he said.

"You grew up on Earth," Riker interjected.

"—with a human wife and human friends," Worf finished.

"You had human adoptive parents and a human brother," Riker continued. "You went to Starfleet academy and were the only Klingon on a ship of one thousand people. Yet, you turned out okay, leader of the Klingon High Council, Chancellor."

Lt. Worf made an undecipherable sound of approval at the mention of his future title.

The Worf on the viewscreen looked momentarily flustered, then he gave voice to more concerns. "He will be . . . teaching history."

"Ah, is that it? Not exactly a warrior's battle, is it?" Riker asked.

Worf glowered in response, acknowledging his friend's understanding.

Beside him, Troi's sympathetic expression radiated understanding. "His new job bothers you," she said, "but there's more to it." She stopped speaking to allow him to admit the truth she was piecing together. When he did not, she continued. "You want Alexander to be more Klingon than you ever were. You're worried that your own lifestyle in the Federation has somehow corrupted your son. You want him to be more fully Klingon to validate your own 'Klingon-ness,' don't you?"

"That is not true!" Worf immediately protested.

The younger Worf watching this looked just as indignant at the suggestion, but he was also worried.

Troi sighed and took her good friend's arm. "Worf, trust Alexander. Trust yourself. I think you'll find that you have taught your son and he has learned some of the best values from both Klingon and Terran cultures. He will always be part Klingon and he will always be part human. And that's all right."

A confused Worf looked down at her comforting face. Beside her, Riker smiled encouragement. Standing before the viewscreen watching the scene, Troi smiled at the wisdom of her future self, for she could definitely imagine such a conflict seizing her friend over his son's mixed heritage. Lt. Worf, however, felt a mixture of bewilderment and anger, though he could not have said why.

Abruptly, the room darkened to black and the _Enterprise_ officers could not see anything. Just as suddenly, the viewscreen lightened to reveal a large white room filled with computer consoles and displays. People dressed in black and gray uniforms with mustard-colored turtlenecks bustled about, mixing with others in regular clothing.

Laforge stared at the vaguely familiar scene until he recognized it. "That's the research and development building at the Utopia Planetia shipyards," he told the others.

As they watched, an older Geordi Laforge, with striking blue speckled eyes, wearing a uniform, strode purposefully into the room, data padd in hand.

"Sala, how's it going? Did you find the Romulan technical journals helpful?" He asked a petite Vulcan researcher. His posture, mannerisms and speech looked exactly as they did on the _Enterprise_.

"Yes, very. We have incorporated the changes that you requested into our computer simulations," she answered. "Although we were able to create an artificial singularity with the warp field generator coils, the resulting warp field layers proved highly unstable, placing the coils at risk of verterium cortenide degradation."

"Hmm," Laforge replied, looking at her computer console, yet beyond it at the same time. "Try modifying the power transfer conduits to compensate for the energy flow variant. There's got to be a way to protect the coils when the ship switches to the Romulan propulsion system." Straightening up, he nodded at what he saw on the monitor. "That's good," he said. "That's good progress. Keep it up and let me know when you're ready to run another simulation."

"We will. Thank you, sir." She returned to her work.

"Captain?" An ensign shyly approached Laforge. "Here is my report on the effects of theta band radiation on the new modulating shield design."

Laforge looked at him skeptically. "Already? Are you sure that's complete? I don't want you to rush to get me results you're not sure of. That wouldn't be of any use to either of us and you're not going to impress me by being the first one to get me the wrong answer."

Seeing himself mentor the younger man, Laforge smiled up at the screen. His friend Data looked at the two Laforges quizzically. Stealing a glance at his Chief Engineer, Picard thought that the future version of the man had become surer of himself in areas other than starship engines. The image of Laforge the Oracle was showing them seemed to be quite similar to the future Laforge that he had seen thanks to Q.

"Then, uh, sir? I'd like to take more time on this," the ensign sheepishly answered, looking up to Laforge timidly for his response.

Laforge smiled and patted his shoulder. "Go ahead, Hendrickson. I'll look forward to your report . . . when it's done."

As the man hurriedly departed, Laforge chuckled and turned to a nearby console. "Computer," he said, "was my message to the Klingon homeworld received?"

After a pause, the feminine voice answered, "Affirmative. Still awaiting response from Chancellor Worf."

"That's okay," Laforge said laughing. "Worf's got enough to worry about with the wedding."

"Please restate question."

Shaking his head, Laforge laughed on the viewscreen and the real Laforge almost joined him, happy to see himself so relaxed and content in the future.

Suddenly, a young woman burst into the room.

"Captain Laforge!" She ran up to him with fear furrowing her face. The overalls she wore did not give any indication as to her identity. Most of those watching assumed she was a researcher.

"Gemma! What is it?" Concern replaced the merriment that had looked so comfortable on Laforge's face. He gripped the woman by her arms. "Is it Leah?"

"Yes," Gemma panted. "Her contractions are three minutes apart and she's on her way to the clinic. She sent me here to get you."

Laforge dropped the data padd on a table. "Who's with the boys?"

"They're with their grandfather," Gemma answered. "Come on, you've got to hurry." She grabbed his hand and started pulling him to the exit. As the room darkened around the surprised group, Laforge's distinctive laughter could be heard.

After a second of darkness, the light resumed, showing the bridge of a starship that the _Enterprise _officers did not recognize. Except for one.

"The _Pasteur,"_ Picard said. Regret shone in his eyes and Troi felt his disappointment as he stood rigidly and stared at the screen, his emotion invisible. Sadly, he thought, this part of the future Q had shown him would apparently come true.

The turbolift doors at the rear of the bridge opened and Beverly Crusher stepped regally out, wearing the same black and gray uniform as Laforge, but with a red turtleneck. She looked much as Picard remembered her from the alternative timeline, he thought, though perhaps a bit thinner and with less gray hair.

Her first officer approached her. "Captain Picard, Governor Sefterine is in the observation lounge. He came aboard to _personally_ thank you for our assistance in the hospital construction project."

Beverly shared a slightly sardonic smile with the younger woman then turned into the lounge. The Oracle's viewscreen followed her, revealing a room smaller than the main observation lounge on the _Enterprise,_ but similarly accentuated. As she walked in, a tall, handsome man with long, dark hair rose from the table.

"Captain Picard," Gov. Sefterine said, taking the hand she offered in both of his, "I wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have done for my people. The new medical facility will bring them a level of care that we never thought possible in our lifetimes."

"Governor, you're very welcome," she responded, retrieving her hand. "I'm glad we were able to help you build the political support you needed for the project." She moved away and sat at the head of the table. Sefterine followed her and sat next to her, staring at her intently, leaning toward her.

Beverly appeared not to notice his attention. She picked up a data padd, pressed a button to activate it, and held it out to show Sefterine. "Here are the rest of the specific plans for the hospital." She pressed another button. "Of course, you can modify any of the timetables, should you encounter any construction or other delays."

Sefterine kept turning from the padd to look at her. He slid partly off the chair to move himself closer to her.

"Captain," Sefterine said, taking Beverly's hand in his, "I would like you to join me this evening for dinner in my home."

Beverly looked at him directly, her eyebrows slightly raised and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that could be interpreted as flirtatious. Viewing the Oracle's presentation, Jean-Luc Picard recognized the look that his friend had when she was about to tease him and he felt jealous and pained seeing her give it to someone else in their post-divorce future.

"Just the two of us?" Beverly asked.

"Yes," Sefterine answered breathily, "just the two of us."

She withdrew her hand and straightened in her chair, still smiling. "I'm sorry, Governor, but I make it a policy to never dine with an attractive planetary ruler without my husband."

_Husband._ Both Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher started at that word.

Sefterine was undaunted. "The ambassador is quite, uh . . . _elderly_, is he not?" He placed a hand on her thigh and slowly started sliding it upward.

Her smile vanished and her hand clamped down on his to stop it. "The ambassador's age is a matter of public record." She lifted his hand above the table then stood up.

Sefterine stood and moved closer, his body only inches away from hers. "Don't you sometimes wish you could be with a younger, more virile man?"

Captain Beverly Picard breathed deeply without moving away from the man who had infuriated her. The _Enterprise _crew recognized the look of simmering anger on her face as she stared at Sefterine for a moment, crafting her response. Jean-Luc Picard thought of the debilitating illness that had weakened him in the future he had seen and wondered if Sefterine was referring to that condition. Next to Dr. Crusher, Riker, anticipating the explosion, arched an eyebrow and looked in her direction, but she could not look away from the viewscreen. Crusher wanted to see her future self tear this pompous man to shreds and she longed to hear something more about her relationship with Jean-Luc.

"Governor," Beverly said, looking him in the eye and speaking deliberately and slowly, "I happen to love my husband very, very much. We share a special bond that has withstood the tests of time, distance and tragedy. I could not possibly be less interested in you or in any other man. And, Governor, you would be extremely fortunate if you could be as spry and _active_ as my husband when you are eighty-five years old."

When she turned to leave the room, each of the officers watching silently applauded. Jean-Luc Picard was heartened to hear her express such feeling for him. A few steps away from him, Beverly Crusher felt tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

Beverly Picard stopped in the doorway and spoke without looking back at Sefterine. "Governor, please return to the planet at your earliest convenience. My ship will be underway to Q'onos within the hour."

The next scene the Oracle presented was quarters aboard a starship. As the stars flew by, Data, wearing a gray and red Starfleet uniform and captain's pips, retrieved two drinks from a replicator. He brought one to his companion, seated in a reclined chair, Ambassador Jean-Luc Picard.

Data—as they all expected—had not aged a day. True to his wife's description, Picard did look healthy for a man his age. His closely cropped hair was completely gray-white and he sported a neatly trimmed goatee. His body looked as fit and lean as ever. Troi found herself smiling at how relaxed her commanding officer looked. He wore comfortable civilian clothing and his normally controlled countenance bore smile wrinkles and the hint of a smile itself.

"Jean-Luc," Data said. His unselfconscious use of his former captain's first name unnerved the _Enterprise _crew observing him. "Have you given any thought to what lies ahead?"

Picard sipped his wine and answered with a sly smile. "I take it you don't mean at Alexander's wedding?"

Missing the humor, Data corrected him. "No, sir. I was referring to the future. Do you plan to continue to work on Romulan-Vulcan unification after your recent setback?"

Picard's eyes darkened. "The setback was difficult," he admitted, "but it is not insurmountable." He looked up at his friend, smiling again. "However, to tell you the truth, Data, we've been considering retirement."

Data was taken by surprise. "Retirement? Both of you?"

Picard sipped the wine again. "Actually, we wouldn't be completely retired. I have a standing offer to return to Starfleet Academy. I think I might enjoy teaching a class here and there."

"And Beverly?"

"Well, she would have to find something to do. She's thought about private practice and she's looked into teaching at a medical school, perhaps, or even teaching drama."

Data's eyes widened at the last suggestion. "Really? Beverly would make an excellent drama coach." He sipped his wine then looked up almost furtively. "I did not know that she wished to leave the _Pasteur." _

Picard smiled patiently. "She doesn't wish to leave just yet. She's accomplished a great deal since she left Starfleet Medical. She wrote the book on command of the hospital ships. The _Pasteur_ has significantly raised the quality of medical care in this part of the galaxy." He sighed, looking happily at his wine glass. "Beverly's work is done, but she doesn't realize it yet."

Data looked puzzled.

"I would say, some time within the next few years, she'll be ready." He chuckled a bit and smiled at his friend. "Don't worry, Data, we'll work it out somehow. We always do."

Watching his future self so comfortable in his marriage, Picard could only wonder what miracle would occur to bring Beverly Crusher and him to that magical point. Suddenly he was aware of Crusher, who had moved to stand next to him. As he took in her presence and her scent, she reached over and grasped his hand.

"Still, Jean-Luc," Data said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair, "I wonder, how do you know when it is time to move on to a new project or goal in life?"

Picard thought for a while before answering, enjoying his wine. "Data," he finally said, "when I was young, all I wanted to do was explore the universe, fly through the stars. I had a burning curiosity that I thought was insatiable. And then one day, so many years later, I realized that it had been sated. I had traveled and seen and accomplished enough for one person. I decided to focus on a very different exploration in my role as a husband and a father . . ."

Crusher and Picard quickly looked at each other, then looked away.

" . . . and I found a great sense of fulfillment in my family. When the children were older and the ambassadorship presented itself, I relished the chance to try to bring peace and a better life to the many races I had encountered. At this point, I feel that I have achieved that—with one exception, of course—and I am ready for another change."

He sipped his wine and sighed. "I want the freedom to go on an archaeological dig whenever I please. I want to tend my vines at Labarre. I want to be able to visit the children, Wesley and his family. I want to attend concerts and plays. I want to spend time with Beverly.

"Maybe I feel the end of my life approaching. I don't know." He stared at the wine that he swirled around his glass. "I have come to know that I should always listen to the small voice inside my head that subtly reminds me that my greatest accomplishments and joys are related to the people I have been blessed to have in my life."

Captain Picard drew in a surprised breath upon hearing that pronouncement. He could not imagine himself expressing such a sentiment. Certainly, in his life thus far, he thought sadly, he had not learned the lesson upon which his older self set such store. He wondered what events would transpire to teach him that wisdom. Beside him, Crusher felt him tense. She nervously stole a glance at his face and wondered what he was thinking. Yet, as soon as she asked herself that question, she knew its plaintive answer.

Across the room, Data turned his head from the viewscreen to regard his companions, the words of his mentor processing through his positronic brain.

Picard, Data and the quarters abruptly disappeared to be replaced by a garden ringed by imposing stone walls. Modern Klingon music, unfamiliar o the _Enterprise_ crew, could be heard nearby. Two large figures outfitted in ceremonial Klingon garb walked under a stone arch. Worf placed a hand on his son's arm to stop him.

"Alexander," he said, "I wish to tell you some things."

The younger man nodded.

Seeing his son as a grown man, Lt. Worf swelled proudly. In his Klingon wedding suit, he thought, Alexander looked like a warrior.

Worf looked up at the trees behind the stonewalls and the sky above them, then back to Alexander. "I want you to know that I have accepted your choice of career. At first I did not think that an academic position was . . . honorable."

Alexander stared at his father, surprised and speechless.

"But," Worf continued, "now I understand that this is your calling and these pursuits make you happy. I wish you . . . qapla'." The words were difficult for him to say and, watching his older doppelganger suffer, Lt. Worf commiserated, until the realization that his son was going to be a teacher distracted him.

Alexander's face softened. "Thank you, Father."

Worf again scanned the horizon and returned to his son. "I also accept your . . . mate." He needed to look away again. Alexander took the opportunity to steal a long look at his father. "Sophia is an honorable woman and the two of you seem to care deeply for one another. That is what is important, your feelings and your decision to spend your life together." Worf looked away, struggling to go on. "Your mother and I also cared for one another." Alexander frowned, confused. "But we chose different paths and we let other ambitions take us apart from each other. Do not make that mistake, son. I have had the misfortune to experience, twice, the suddenness with which death may strike."

Moving tentatively, Alexander stepped closer to his father, still a big man, and wrapped his arms around his chest. "I love you, father," he said quietly.

Worf slowly moved his arms until his hands came to rest uncertainly on Alexander's back. "I am proud of you, Alexander. I love you, too."

Lt. Worf felt uncomfortable watching this show of affection in public. He fervently hoped that none of his colleagues would look at him. Troi sensed his discomfort but felt an amused affection toward her friend. Worf and she were planning to get together later; Troi made a mental note to mention this scene, if she felt that he could talk about it.

The two men turned around and together walked back through the arch toward the reception. The viewscreen followed them to a large patio, decorated in Klingon and Terran custom, with a long table full of food on one side and a group of musicians perched on a stage at the far end. After the modern song ended, the musicians began to play a waltz. The younger people moved off the dance floor and one elegant couple soon dominated the center of the floor, a mostly bald man in an old-fashioned black tuxedo and a woman with long red hair in a cobalt blue tea-length gown.

Watching the wedding reception with interest, Crusher gasped at the image of the two of them. Hearing her, Picard smiled to himself and squeezed her hand.

Jean-Luc and Beverly Picard moved gracefully. Apparently too far away for the Oracle to record their voices, they nevertheless could be seen talking occasionally and smiling at one another with eyes full of love.

Two Starfleet officers in dress uniforms sat close together at a nearby table.

"You know," Captain Will Riker said to Deanna Troi, "the romantic in me never gets tired of seeing those two dance together." He snaked an arm along the back of her chair and grinned at her.

Deanna smiled back serenely. "It reminds me of their wedding day," she said dreamily.

"Mmm," he nodded, "an eventful day for two couples."

They shared a lengthy kiss.

In the Oracle's room, Troi, Riker and Worf squirmed.

The waltz over, the music changed to a more contemporary selection. Spotting a colleague with whom he wished to speak, Jean-Luc kissed Beverly's cheek and a smiling Data, in his dress uniform, took his place. Beverly and Data appeared to be at least semi-regular dance partners, for they swirled around the floor as though they had done so many times before. Beverly laughed in delight and Data tried to emulate the sound, with surprising success.

"Beverly," Data asked, "I was wondering if I could ask your advice on a personal matter?"

"Of course, Data."

"I have been thinking about leaving my command, but I am unsure what to do next."

"What options are you considering?"

"I have an offer to teach at Cambridge, which I find tempting. Leah has also asked me to join her at the Daystrom Institute. I have been thinking of expanding the 'dabbling' that I have done in positronic brain research over the years," Data answered.

Beverly did not need any time to think. "Why don't you try to combine both interests? Could you teach and do research on the side?" Her eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "Data! You could teach at the Vulcan Academy of Science and continue your research there as well! You would be fabulous! And you'd be close enough to Geordi and to us—well, once we return to Earth—that you could visit often."

Data was clearly impressed by his dance partner's idea. He tilted his head slightly, recalling the ambassador's words, and realized that the proposal would allow him to pursue areas of interest and to stay connected to people in his life. "Intriguing," he said sincerely.

The Data watching the Oracle's viewscreen echoed, "Intriguing," with no appreciation of the humor in his response.

The band began to play a fast-tempo, jazz tune and Beverly and Data took off at breakneck speed.

The music, however, discouraged Worf and Lash'a, who moved together off the dance floor, Lash'a's arm in her father's. A boisterous party of Klingon officials at a nearby table gestured to Worf to join them, but Lash'a stopped him.

"Father," she said with some difficulty. "I wanted to tell you that I made my decision about what to do after graduation."

Worf turned to face her, all thought of joining his comrades forgotten. "And?" He asked.

Lash'a took a deep breath. "I want to serve on a Klingon starship. I am a warrior. I have no interest in pursuing planetbound studies and no interest in serving on a Federation ship. If you insist, Father, I will apply to the exchange student program at Starfleet academy, but I am going to attend the Klingon academy."

She spoke with authority, as if daring her father, or anyone else, to challenge her future plans. What Worf did next surprised her as much as it did the group watching the future confrontation.

He threw his head back and roared a laugh. Lash'a's shoulders softened just as he grabbed them and pulled her into an embrace. "I am very proud of you, Lash'a. I love you."

Before Lt. Worf could decide how to respond to what he had just seen, his fellow officers and he saw Ambassador Picard walk on to the stage and take the microphone from the leader of the band, who had just finished the song.

"I apologize for the interruption," a beaming Jean-Luc said to the crowd, "but I have a brief announcement that may be of some interest to many of the guests here today. We just received word from Geordi Laforge: it's a girl!"

Cheers and celebratory music rose up as the light in the Oracle's room dimmed for the final time.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II – The Aftermath

Negotiations with the Assaunians went smoothly. After the _Enterprise _crew emerged from the Oracle's chamber, they were escorted immediately into Emperor Gink's conference room. The Emperor and his/her assistants focused on the business at hand. Picard did not make a conscious note of his relaxation, but he handled the talks faultlessly. At his right, Troi contributed valuable assistance, as usual, and Riker ably addressed the topics that they had agreed he would handle. Each of the other officers, in turn, gave a presentation on his or her areas of expertise. For their part, the Assaunians seemed immeasurably more comfortable with the offworlders after their visit to the Oracle.

After a long session and a pleasant dinner, the Starfleet officers returned to their ship. Deanna Troi retired to her quarters to change before meeting Worf for a drink in Ten Forward. She set three different outfits on her bed, trying to decide which one to wear and had not made much progress when her door chimed.

"Come."

Worf stepped gingerly into the living area of her quarters.

"Oh, hello. Am I late?" Deanna asked. "I thought we said 2100 hours."

Worf's face contorted, as it did when he had to say something that he did not want to say. He struggled for a moment to find the best words. "I do not think that we should . . . pursue a . . . closer relationship."

Deanna was dumbstruck. Over the last months, Worf and she had grown closer, getting to know each other better and finding that they had more in common than they had ever realized. She had sensed his attraction to her and knew that his feelings for her mirrored her own for him. Just that morning, he had asked her to meet for a drink after they returned from the planet.

She sat down in an armchair. "Worf, may I ask why?"

He would not have thought it possible, but Worf grew even more uncomfortable. He had thought that she would feel the same way, that she would understand, she of all people. He fidgeted nervously and finally found the words. "The Oracle has shown us that we will not be together in the future."

Deanna's eyes opened wide. "The Oracle? Worf, you are going to change the way you live your life today because of the . . . fantasy life that you saw in an alien movie show?"

Her contempt angered Worf. "The Oracle shows the true future. It has been well-documented. The Assaunians have believed in the Oracle's power for centuries."

"Worf," Deanna countered reasonably, "many races have faith-based belief systems that are not susceptible to empirical proof."

"But offworlders have proven the Oracle's power," Worf insisted. "The futures that the Oracle has shown have come true. You read the report."

"Did you ever think that maybe those people made the future happen the way the Oracle said that it would? That seeing the Oracle's 'future' caused them to act differently and make it happen?" Deanna never would have addressed a counseling patient with the skepticism and derision that crept into her voice, but her relationship with Worf was purely personal. And he had made her angry. "Worf, you can't change your life and deny your feelings because of what you saw on Assaunia."

"Yes, I can," Worf said succinctly.

When he turned to leave her quarters, his message communicated, Deanna rose in disbelief. "Wait," she called after him. "The Oracle only showed you part of the future. How do you know that you and I aren't meant to have a torrid affair for years before you meet the woman you eventually marry?"

Worf stopped in the doorway but did not turn to face her. "I just . . . know."

He walked away.

Data hesitated before ringing Geordi Laforge's door chime at such a late hour, but he was curious and wanted to talk to his friend. When Geordi responded, he entered the quarters and found Geordi at his computer terminal.

"Are you working? I do not wish to interrupt—"

"No, come in, Data," Geordi said. "I'm not working. I'm sending a message."

"Oh." Data sat down across the desk from him.

When Data did not inquire as to whom the message was for, Geordi squirmed and tried to sound casual. "I haven't been in contact with Leah Brahms lately, so I decided to send her a message."

Data's head tilted slightly to one side as he considered his friend's choice of correspondent. "Leah Brahms, the propulsion expert who designed the _Enterprise's _warp engines?"

"Yeah," Geordi breathed.

"Geordi, may I ask why you have decided to correspond with Dr. Brahms now?"

Geordi made some show of not wanting to answer to cover his nearly overwhelming urge to discuss it. "Well, Data, now that I know that the two of us are going to be together in the future . . . . It just seems easier to write to her, you know, knowing what I know now." He smiled in a manner that Data had previously classified as indicating a certain smugness in the speaker's knowledge.

Data's face looked quizzical. "I do not recall the Oracle showing you and Dr. Brahms together in the future."

"Well, Data, come on. I had a wife, who was in labor, and her name was Leah." Geordi shrugged as though he were drawing a conclusion so obvious as to be insulting to his Android friend.

Although he could not feel the emotion, Data's expression took on a pained look. "Geordi, the odds of the Leah of the Oracle's vision being Dr. Leah Brahms, who is already married, living and conducting research at her own laboratory light years away, not involved with you romantically and not even a particularly good friend, are approximately—"

"All right, Data!" Geordi interrupted him before he had a chance to give the precise calculation. Even without a positronic brain, Geordi knew that the odds were not good. Yet, he could not shake the thought—the hope—that perhaps the Oracle's Leah _was_ Leah Brahms. In fact, he was becoming obsessed with the idea. Throughout the daylong session on Assaunia, his thoughts kept returning to Leah Brahms. Despite their rocky association, he still felt that he knew her very well. And he could not imagine being more attracted to any other woman—Leah was brilliant and beautiful. He could not accept that his future mate was any other woman with the same name.

Geordi could not tell Data, or anyone else, what he was thinking. They would think I'm crazy, he thought, and they'd probably be right. "Look, Data," he said, "I'm just sending her a message. Nothing serious."

Data considered this for a moment. "Would you be sending Dr. Brahms a message if you had not seen a vision of the future that contained a wife named Leah?" He asked.

Busted, Geordi thought. "Well, uh, maybe not," he conceded, "but that doesn't matter. I'm only saying hello in my message. I'm not proposing."

"I had not thought that you would be proposing marriage at this point in your distant relationship," Data said. "However, if you act now, based on the vision of the future that the Oracle presented, how do you know that your actions will not jeopardize that future?"

Geordi stopped himself before he spoke. The question, he knew, was unanswerable. He wished that Data and his dream-destroying logic would go away. Clinging to his fantasy tenaciously, he resolved to ignore Data's realism.

"You know, Data," he said, inspired, "I think I am tired. I'm going to turn in, now, if you don't mind."

"I do not mind," Data said. He rose to leave, then paused just inside the doorway. When he turned to face his friend, Geordi saw canals of worry spread across his forehead. "Geordi, do you think I would make a good captain?"

Still stinging from Worf's rejection, Deanna Troi decided to make her life easier in one simple respect. Rather than waking up early to review the agenda for the next day's session with the Assaunians with Commander Riker, she contacted him and told him she would come to his quarters tonight to do it. Once that task was out of the way, she could sleep late. In her foul mood, any small reward she could give herself would be welcome.

"Come," Will Riker's voice replied to the door chime.

Deanna stepped into his quarters, computer padd in hand and, for the second time that evening, received a shock.

Soft jazz music played in the dimly lit room. Will Riker, in casual clothes that revealed a considerable amount of his broad chest, was lounging seductively on the couch, wine glass in hand. A second glass awaited her on the coffee table. She sensed his desire for her very strongly—an emotion that had been almost completely absent earlier in the day.

Oh no, she thought, him, too.

As Will's smile spread from his mouth to his twinkling blue eyes, Deanna contemplated leaving. But then she decided to give herself another small reward. She walked up to the coffee table and grabbed the wine glass.

"To us," Will toasted merrily.

Deanna drank then offered her own toast. "To fantasy."

Will stopped. "Is that what you think we saw today, fantasy?"

"I'm not sure what it was, but I can tell you what it wasn't." She sat down in a chair across from him, looking around the room for the wine bottle, for a refill. "The Oracle is not some guide to the future that we should live our lives by. Its knowledge was not given to us so that we could go home and immediately make changes that we think—with our rather limited peek at a distant future—will help us to arrive where we may _think_ we want to be."

Will was alarmed at the direction in which this conversation was heading. When Deanna said she wanted to stop by his quarters tonight, he had assumed that it was in response to what the Oracle had shown them about their future together. He leaned forward on the couch, cradling his wine glass in his hands, to speak to her.

"Deanna, I don't know how the Oracle works, but I do know that the future it shows actually comes to pass. All the offworlders who reported on their experiences confirmed that."

"Yes, only the offworlders who bothered to fill out a report and send it to Starfleet confirmed that things the Oracle showed them actually happened. Has there ever been any independent verification of the reports on the Oracle? What about everyone else? How many other visitors to Assaunia _didn't_ report on their experiences?"

"In some cases, undoubtedly, that future was so distant that it hasn't arrived yet," Will reasoned. He knew he would not win a battle based on statistical analysis. "Deanna, are you uncomfortable with the idea that we will end up together?"

Deanna sighed loudly in exasperation. She found the wine bottle, retrieved it and poured herself another drink. "Will, how far in the future was Alexander's wedding? Worf had a teenaged daughter who hasn't been born yet with a woman that he hasn't met yet and the captain was _eighty-five_ years old."

Will did the math.

"Did the Oracle show us what will happen in our future over the next year?" Deanna continued. "The next week? How do you that you and I won't be married three times before we finally end up with each other?"

"Deanna, the point is that eventually you and I will be together, very happy, on board a new starship, with our children. Is that so bad? Why are you trying to avoid that?"

Deanna ignored his comment as her thoughts and her anger led her to a conclusion. She spoke as much to the absent Worf as to Will. "A more logical explanation for the Oracle's prophecies is that the people who see them purposefully alter their lives to fulfill what the Oracle has shown them. Just as you are trying to do." She was careful not to mention Worf's similar response to the Oracle. She exhaled in disgust. "In fact, it's more likely that the Oracle has some telepathic ability and reads our minds to discern what we _want_ to see in our futures. Then it somehow translates our thoughts into the images it projects."

Will was preoccupied with a different concern. "Are you saying that you're not attracted to me? That you wouldn't want a relationship with me, now or ever?"

"I can't believe this." Deanna stood up. "We all know better than to let knowledge of the future influence the decisions that we make today. If all of you are acting like this . . . I don't have any choice. I have to recommend that Beverly erase our memories of the Oracle's room." She turned to leave.

"Deanna, wait—"

"The first chance I get to talk to her," Deanna said as she stalked off.

The next morning, Jean-Luc and Beverly met for breakfast, as usual. After clearing away their plates, Jean-Luc poured two cups of tea and carried them into the living area of his quarters. Beverly was looking out the viewport and turned to take her tea.

"Thank you," she smiled at him.

He sat next to her on the couch, careful to sit some space away, yet not so far away that he was purposely putting distance between them.

She noticed that he did not choose his usual spot in the chair opposite the couch.

"Well, Will should be beaming down now to flesh out the details of the agreement with his counterpart," Jean-Luc commented, in an effort to steer their small talk toward the Assaunians and the future that the Oracle had shown them. He was not sure if Beverly would talk to him about it and—after the unwelcome invitation he had extended to her after their mind-sharing experience on Kess-Prytt—he was not at all confident about bringing it up. "I think he's done a remarkable job of reaching out to the Assaunians, making them feel at ease with us."

"Mmm," Beverly agreed, drinking her tea. "The Assaunians are a very interesting people, don't you think?" She hoped to bring him around to discussing the future that they would share, if the Oracle could be believed. She had been quite distracted yesterday, thinking about marrying Jean-Luc and having children with him. She wondered if he found the prospect as exciting as she did, yet she was reluctant to bring it up. The last time they had come close to starting an intimate relationship, she had been paralyzed with fear. The Oracle had helped to dispel some of her fear, yet . . . .

"Yes, very," Jean-Luc said amiably keeping up his end of the implicit bargain. "Their culture and religion have such a profound impact on the way they live their lives." He was pleased that he was thinking of such innocuous comments to lead into the delicate topic. "The way they construct their houses, for example, and their daily prayer rituals."

"And, of course, the Oracle." Beverly tried to sound nonchalant, but feared that she had brought up the subject too quickly. She stopped talking and drank her tea.

Jean-Luc felt his heart beat faster, but he maintained his exterior calm. "The Oracle and the knowledge of the future that it provides the Assaunians are very unusual. The shrines to the Oracle that they build in their homes can be quite elaborate."

Still not trusting herself to talk, Beverly nodded agreeably and took another sip of tea.

Jean-Luc filled the silence. "I find it very interesting that they are able to live without second guessing their choices or without trying to shape their lives to conform to the futures they see."

His comment worried her. She was not sure whether he was still making small talk about the Assaunians or if he were hinting that they should avoid those pitfalls. Perhaps he was suggesting that he did not want to move in that direction. "Do you think that any of us will start doing that?"

Her question worried him. Was she warning him that she did not want to get closer to him?

"I took a chance when I agreed to the Emperor's demand that we see the Oracle," he said. "I trusted that my officers would act responsibly with the knowledge the Oracle imparted." He sighed into his tea. "I had thought that the futures we would be shown would be much less personal. At any rate, I suppose it's better that we didn't learn too much about future events with more historical significance."

"Well," Beverly said, finding a safe topic in the direction that she wanted to move him, "we did learn that you are going to work on Vulcan-Romulan reunification. That's pretty significant."

Jean-Luc's eyes widened. "I was very surprised to find myself engaged in such a monumental initiative."

"Yes, your future was surprising, Jean-Luc," she agreed. "I never would have thought that you would become such a good dancer."

He looked up and saw her mischievous smile, the one he loved. "I obviously had a very good teacher," he smiled back, "and some private lessons."

She could not resist his smile, the rarely seen playfulness in his eyes that she enjoyed bringing out. "You obviously have some natural talent, a potential that you have not yet realized."

"I can only hope that, one day, you will help me realize my full potential."

She smiled warmly in response, acknowledging his wordplay. She sipped her tea, then decided to take the plunge, her burning curiosity allowing her natural impulsivity to overrun her acquired fear. "You know, you and I seemed to be very happy together in that future." Her eyes ventured from her teacup to his face, where they found a kindred spirit.

Without moving a muscle in his carefully controlled visage, Jean-Luc let all of his feelings for her show in his warm, hazel eyes. Seeing it, Beverly wanted to cry.

"We seemed to be very good friends, as we are now," he said, his voice husky.

"Yes, like now , . . . except that we were married and had children."

This almost felt like a negotiation to Jean-Luc, the most important one of his life. He needed a pause, a deep breath, but he could not let his opponent know that he was doing that. He breathed in normally, to gain time and the extra oxygen he suddenly needed, before speaking again. Mentally holding on to himself, he asked her in an even voice the question that he was most afraid to ask. "What do you think of those changes to our relationship?"

His heart sank, even as he forced his face muscles to remain stoic, as he watched her lower her head to the teacup in her lap.

Beverly had suddenly found it difficult to breathe or to look him in the eye and even more difficult to speak. She could not lie to Jean-Luc, but the truth was so hard to admit, both to him and to herself. She felt his nervousness in the silence growing between them as she stared at her shaking hands. Closing her moist eyes, she made her decision. "I thought our future looked wonderful," she said quietly.

Steady, Jean-Luc counseled himself, as the blood rushed back into his heart. He felt lightheaded.

"What did you think about the Oracle's future?"

"I thought . . . ." Now that she had told him how she felt, Jean-Luc could barely control himself enough to answer her question. When he spoke, his rich baritone voice was soft, a gently caressing tone that it seldom adopted and that Beverly had not heard since the night they returned from Kess-Prytt. "I thought it was everything I have ever wanted in my life."

Giving in to his emotions, he closed his eyes on their threat of tears and tipped his head slightly downward. He wanted to touch her, but was afraid, even though he thought he might cry if he did not make some contact with the woman his heart and body longed for.

He felt Beverly move closer to him on the couch. As if she had read his mind, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, reassuringly. He rested his head on her shoulder, sensing her affection for him, letting her comfort him. She felt so good. He allowed himself to think of nothing but the physical sensation of her hands, her arms touching his shoulders and back.

Beverly closed her eyes as she held Jean-Luc and rested her cheek on top of his head. It felt so natural to be holding him, yet so frightening to her. She smelled his clean, masculine scent. Memories of the Oracle's visions of their happiness helped to slow her quickening pulse. Jean-Luc's arms encircled her waist and hugged her back. The closeness and the warmth of his body threatened to seduce her. As always, these feelings frightened Beverly and the Oracle's future waged a battle against her fears as she soaked up Jean-Luc's affection and felt her body crave more.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes, lifted her head and leaned away from him. Startled, he retrieved his arms halfway from around her. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. He caught her eyes in his questioning face.

She quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek tenderly. She had hoped the gesture would reassure him, but his face did not seem sure about anything to her when she pulled back.

Jean-Luc was confused. Her words and the physical intimacy they had shared served to belay his greatest fear—that she did not have feelings for him. Yet, as on the night after Kess-Prytt, she moved herself away from him without any explanation.

"I think I should be going."

At first, he was uncertain whether she had spoken the words or his mind had replayed them to torture him. He looked at Beverly and found her, a few more centimeters away from him on the couch, taking a final drink of tea. As he watched, she stopped drinking abruptly and stared blankly into the room, lost in thought.

Jean-Luc would have given anything to have been able to share those thoughts.. He waited as she sat, her teacup frozen in the air.

Finally, she turned to him and lay a hand on his arm. "Jean-Luc?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be possible for me to go back down to the planet?" She asked.

He had not expected her to say that. He gave her some time to explain why or to say something that would calm the fluttering of his heart and when she did not, he respected her privacy and her wishes. "I don't see why not."


	3. Chapter 3

Part III - What the Oracle Showed Beverly

Part of her knew that this was foolhardy, for many reasons. First of all, if she offended the Assaunians, she could jeopardize the much-needed treaty that was hours away from being finalized. Second, she knew that viewing the future was risky. Perhaps the Oracle, in its wisdom, had shown them only glimpses that it knew would not affect any important future events. Lastly, Beverly was worried by what the Oracle might show her if it honored her request.

She transported down unannounced to their original beaming-down point and snuck off to find the Oracle. After a few wrong turns down deserted corridors, she found the entrance to the Oracle's room. She had expected it to be heavily guarded, but there was no one stationed at the door. In fact, there was no one in the most sacred hall of the Assaunian central government building at all. She found the emptiness surprising, but then she remembered that one of the Assaunians had opened the door in a manner that none of the _Enterprise _crew had seen. She had come this far, she fretted, only to be stopped at the entrance.

Suddenly, the door opened and Beverly had a full view of the spacious room of the Oracle. Glancing to both sides to confirm that she was still alone, she stepped gingerly inside. The door immediately closed behind her. For a quick moment, she felt frightened and considered trying to get out of there.

"You needn't leave."

The voice of the Oracle startled her. It seemed much louder now that she was alone and it was directed toward only her. The pink light of the room grew brighter as the winds blew up around her.

Beverly thought she should explain herself. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry for barging in here like this. It's just that I, uh, . . . I had something I wanted to ask you." She had not thought it would be so difficult.

"Ask me," the Oracle seemed to breathe.

Beverly felt the sense of panic that always accompanied her thoughts of her future, and in particular, her thoughts of a future relationship with Jean-Luc Picard. She struggled to keep from fleeing, from racing out of the room as fast as she could. The Oracle could provide her with a way to face her greatest fear, if she were brave enough to face it.

"Do you know why the people of Assaunia come to me?"

She had not expected the Oracle to ask any questions of her. "Yes. Uh, no. I'm not completely sure," she answered, looking around the room as if she might spot her inquisitor. "The Emperor said your words help to guide them and help them to meditate."

"Very true. I show them what will be and remove the uncertainty from their lives. Knowledge of their future liberates them and gives them the courage to make decisions, to move forward."

Beverly shivered.

"That's why you've come here."

Beverly stepped backward, in the direction of the door. The more she let herself consider what she was doing, the more it alarmed her. Although the images from the day before were comforting, there was certainly no guarantee that the future held only good things for her. She of all people, she thought, should know that the universe can surprise one in very painful ways.

"I will show you what you need to see," the Oracle said calmly.

Beverly heard the screams before she saw anything. As the pink of the Oracle's walls brightened to a dark red, a large, circular bed came into focus in the center of a very gaudily decorated room. Pictures of unclothed humanoids in a variety of sexual positions adorned the walls. Tables held picture books, jars of cream, bottles of oil and other objects not immediately identifiable to her.

Beverly gasped. On the bed, Jean-Luc and she were making love and she was screaming with pleasure. She felt profoundly embarrassed and needed a moment to remember that the other officers were not standing there with her. The Oracle, she supposed, had seen it all before, but she still felt uncomfortable knowing that the Oracle—whatever it was—could see her at such an intimate moment.

When she calmed down enough to pay attention to the couple on the bed, her eyes opened wide at what she saw. She was lying on her back and her eyes kept closing with passion as she panted heavily. Above her, Jean-Luc was slowly raising himself up and lowering himself down into her.

"Oh, my," the voyeur Beverly said, feeling herself blush and warm slightly.

His body was exquisite, she thought. In her professional capacity, she had seen his naked body, but she had never allowed herself to enjoy looking at him in a sensual way. Now, she stood and gazed at his muscular biceps and legs, his strong chest, his chiseled stomach. She found herself wishing that she had a better view of the part of his anatomy that was making her writhe and scream in delight.

"Jean-Luc!" The Beverly on the bed suddenly grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close to her, wrapping her legs tightly around his firm bottom. She moaned and pressed herself against him rhythmically as she rode each cascading wave of orgasm. Soon, his voice joined hers in ecstasy.

He kissed and nuzzled her face, her hair, her neck. "Beverly," he whispered sexily in her ear.

Seeing this, Beverly's embarrassment gave way to arousal. She felt disappointed when the strange bedroom faded to black.

For the second time, Beverly heard herself scream before she saw the images. As the delivery room of the _Enterprise _sickbay appeared, she saw Jean-Luc then herself. She was in labor and covered with sweat. Jean-Luc, in his uniform, stood next to the vertical birthing bed, one arm around her shoulders and the other hand holding hers. He looked very strange and it took Beverly a moment to realize that she had never seen him like this before: he was nervous. Dr. Hill stood to one side to allow Lt. Alyssa Ogawa to deliver the baby.

Another scream and Beverly shuddered as she watched herself grimace with the pain.

Like any expectant father in the delivery room, Jean-Luc looked very concerned. "Are you all right?" He asked.

Beverly looked up at him with a mixture of anger and incredulity glowing on her wet face. But the scathing retort on her tongue was drowned by her next scream. She panted after the contraction passed, in an ironic echo, the woman watching thought, of her breathlessness in the previous scene.

"What's wrong?" She asked, irritated. "What's taking so long for him to come out?"

Ogawa looked up at her captain to let him know that there was nothing wrong with the baby's progress.

"Everything is all right, Beverly," he tried to reassure her. "You just have to push a little bit more." He rubbed her shoulders and held tightly to her hand.

"Damn you," was her response to his gentle soothing, as another contraction claimed her.

"Doctor," Ogawa said, "this is it. I've got his head. He's coming."

Jean-Luc kissed her forehead as she squeezed his hands. "Push, Beverly," he whispered.

Her face contorted hideously and she screamed even more loudly as she bore down. It seemed to take forever.

Mesmerized, Beverly watched herself give birth. When Ogawa caught the tiny infant, Dr. Hill stepped forward to laser the umbilical cord and perform the tricorder scan.

Jean-Luc squeezed Beverly's shoulder, his face white.

A smiling Ogawa brought the baby up to Beverly, whose face had softened. She brought the naked baby to her chest. Snuggling him against her, she looked up at Jean-Luc and saw tears silently streaming down his face. He reached over hesitantly and laid a hand on the baby's back. The light of the delivery room faded.

And only came on about half-strength in unfamiliar quarters aboard the _Enterprise._ Beverly sat on a couch, nursing an infant. Nearby, Jean-Luc was holding a toddler of perhaps fifteen months against his chest in a rocking chair. The little one wriggled a bit and kept lifting his head off Jean-Luc's shoulder.

"Ssh," Jean-Luc was saying to the child, "sleep." He gently rubbed the child's back and rocked. "Ssssshhh."

Beverly smiled at him from her comfortable perch. The infant in her arms looked very small.

As both Beverlys watched, Jean-Luc stroked the toddler's hair gently and began to sing. He sang in his native French, his distinctive, deep voice low and lulling. After a few minutes, the Beverly on the couch lifted the baby to her shoulder and softly rubbed her back to burp her. The infant complied, then fell asleep.

In the dim light of their quarters, Beverly glowed with happiness. Her children slept peacefully and Jean-Luc sang beautifully. She looked infinitely content with her life and her expression was not lost on the observer before the Oracle. The lights gradually faded, Jean-Luc's magical voice lingering.

An explosion suddenly drowned his singing and the scene returned to sickbay, the flashing red alert lights appearing out of the darkness first. As she watched, Beverly tensed. Her staff seemed to be treating a large number of injured patients. With horror, she realized that she could actually read the biopanels above the beds—they confirmed that many of the people lying in her sickbay were seriously wounded.

She watched herself quickly move between the most urgent cases and give orders to her staff where necessary. For the most part, her doctors and nurses were able to respond without her direct oversight and the Chief Medical Officer watching this emergency unfold felt proud of her people. Her future self, however, looked quite harried.

"Doctor Picard!"

"Yes?" The doctor on the viewscreen answered, as the one standing in the Oracle's room noted the name change.

"The captain wishes to speak to you." The nurse who told Beverly pointed in the direction of one of the beds.

Dr. Picard anxiously hurried to his bed and helped him to sit up. His uniform top was burned and his face scarred. "Jean-Luc—"

"I know," he said, holding up a hand to stop her, "you're not releasing me. It's all right. Riker just told me they're gone. They warped out of here, apparently content with the damage they've inflicted upon us."

Her face panicked, she suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders. "Jean-Luc, I can't do this anymore." She sounded distraught, her professional officer façade, her even bedside manner gone. She pointed to a young boy lying on a nearby biobed. "That boy, he could have been—"

"But he wasn't," Jean-Luc said calmly, holding her arms. "Beverly—"

"No, no, . . . ." She shook her head and spoke determinedly. "Don't try to talk me out of this. Jean-Luc, I can't take it anymore. I want to get off this ship. I want all of us to go live somewhere . . . safer." She leaned forward until her forehead rested on his and whispered. "I want us to be safe. Please. _Please._" She was crying.

The scene disturbed Beverly Crusher. Both the anxiety for her not-yet conceived children and the sight of her crying in front of Jean-Luc—her captain—worried her.

With a strong gust of wind and a _whoosing_ noise, sickbay was gone, replaced by an attractively decorated room in a house. The house seemed to be quite old and suggested an old-fashioned country setting. A weary Beverly, in uniform, walked through the old-style front door, setting a large travel bag down at her feet. She sighed and pulled her boots off, listening to them clunk on the floor.

"Surprise!"

She jumped when the two pajama-clad children suddenly appeared. They looked to be somewhere between the ages of ten and twelve, the Beverly watching guessed.

The Beverly on the viewscreen leaned against the door and pantomimed her surprise. "What are you doing up at this hour?" She asked them.

"Waiting for you, Mamán," the girl answered.

"We made you dinner," the boy said.

"Dinner?" Beverly asked. "It's the middle of the night."

"Actually," a familiar deep voice said, "it's closer to the morning."

Jean-Luc walked out of a darkened room on the right, handsome in a black turtleneck and tan pants. He moved to her, slid his arms around her waist and kissed her tenderly on the lips. "Welcome home, cherie."

She smiled at him, entranced, but before she could say anything, her daughter pulled her by the arm.

"Come on, Mamán, we made you dinner. Come eat with us."

"I'm coming, sweetie," Beverly said, her eyes still on Jean-Luc. "Your brother and you should not have stayed up so late."

"We didn't," her son said, as he pulled her chair out in the dining room. She sat down in it, thanking him. "We went to bed at our regular time and Papá woke us up to make dinner for you. It's still warm." The pride in his voice and his face were evident.

She sat down and took in the various dishes laid out before her on the table.

"See what we made you, Mamán?" Her daughter asked. "All your favorites."

"Yes, I see. _All_ of my favorites." Beverly looked up at her husband and they both started to laugh.

As Beverly Picard dished out her meal, Beverly Crusher looked in astonishment at the children. The boy reminded her of the adolescent Jean-Luc that she had seen when he had been transformed after a transporter accident. But if he resembled his father physically, he acted much more exuberantly than the adult Jean-Luc. He was in constant motion as he talked, describing things with colorful details and gesturing with his hands. She wondered whimsically if Jean-Luc had been like that as a teenager or if he had been as reserved as he was now.

Her daughter had her own red hair, pulled up in a ponytail, and her pale blue eyes. She was as tall as her brother and nearly as excited by the surprise they had perpetrated on their mother. She moved gracefully, carefully and when she looked at her mother or father, her gaze lingered much longer than a child's normally would. She reminded Beverly more of the adult Jean-Luc than of herself. She wondered if her daughter studied dance, as she had.

Beverly observed the comfortable meal and the home talk and was surprised to realize that this was exactly what she wanted in life—a career and a family, Jean-Luc, safety, happiness and comfort. She had never really considered having more children or living on Earth again, but now that she was watching such a life unfold, she felt drawn to its warmth and security.

As swiftly as it had appeared, the domestic tableau ended. She was walking on the bridge of a ship that she recognized as the _Pasteur._ The admiral at her elbow and she were the only people there as she spoke enthusiastically.

"It feels so strange and so wonderful to finally be standing on the bridge! Maybe this is no big thrill for you admiral types, but this is the very first ship that I've ever designed. It's going out into space to do exactly what _I _want it to do, what _I_ built it to do."

She walked along the aft section admiringly, looking at the various stations and display panels. She seemed very familiar with the consoles. As she meandered to the command center, she scrutinized the floor, as though she were measuring the distances between the stations. The admiral watched her. Suddenly she turned and looked at the admiral.

"Admiral, do you realize what this ship will do? It will revolutionize the way Starfleet responds to medical emergencies. This ship will be able to raise the quality of care on planets all over the quadrant by threefold. Epidemics can be better contained. Viruses can be attacked with a facility comparable to a moving starbase. Starfleet will be able to respond to all types of emergencies, in space or on planets, with _remarkable_ speed and resources."

Standing before the viewscreen, Beverly Crusher felt a shiver. As a survivor of a planetary disaster, she understood the importance of a medical ship that could respond quickly. She gasped at the realization that she may be watching herself fulfill a personal goal of immense magnitude—a goal that she had not yet even identified. With a ship like the _Pasteur,_ Starfleet could respond to a disaster such as Arvada III more quickly and with the equipment and supplies needed to save many more lives. A wave of vertigo hit Beverly: she was destined to build a medical starship so that others would not suffer as she and her colony had.

On the bridge, Beverly Picard stood next to the captain's chair, checking the displays on its arm. The Admiral slowly walked around to her side.

"Have you chosen a captain yet?" Beverly asked her.

"Yes, we have."

"Was it one of my recommendations?" Beverly feigned interest in the comm panel on the chair.

"No."

Beverly stopped playing with the panel. "May I ask why not?"

"Because you didn't recommend yourself."

Beverly looked up, shocked. "Me? Who recommended me? No, let me guess—my entire staff at Starfleet Medical?" Her half-smile told the admiral that she was not seriously considering herself for the position.

The admiral was not having it. "You can't tell me the thought never crossed your mind, Beverly. You're the obvious candidate. You know every computer chip, every piece of duranium in the hull, every carpet square on the bridge." She gestured to the area of the floor that Beverly had been studying. "You have the medical expertise and the command experience _and _the respect of every medical and command officer in the fleet and in the admiralty."

Beverly folded her arms across her chest. "I also have three children, a husband, a grandchild, two houses, and several horses, dogs and fish on Earth."

"Your family could come with you," the admiral said. "Except for the larger pets, of course."

"What would they do on the _Pasteur?"_ Beverly asked skeptically.

The admiral had prepared for this conversation. "Your children could complete their studies and, if they're interested in applying to the Academy, the _Pasteur_ would provide them with an outstanding opportunity to learn about starships, much as Wesley learned aboard the _Enterprise."_

"Um-hm," Beverly said. "And what about Jean-Luc?"

"From what I've heard, he knows his way around a starship fairly well."

"He's knows his way around a starship that he's commanding," Beverly corrected. "He likes to keep busy. This is a man who is raising two teenagers, teaching at Starfleet Academy, managing a vineyard and, in his spare time, organizing archaeological digs all over the sector, Shakespeare readings in his village and home remodeling projects just for the hell of it. He couldn't simply come aboard with me and do nothing."

The admiral was skillfully steering the conversation. "Your husband turned a position down for you once, didn't he?"

"He turned down an ambassadorship," Beverly said, "and he _resigned_ his command of the Federation flagship for me. Admiral," she moved closer and laid a hand on the admiral's arm, "believe me, Jean-Luc and I are committed to keeping our family together."

"What if you could keep your family together and Jean-Luc could become an ambassador? Would that arrangement be in keeping with your commitment? The Federation Council is looking for an ambassador at large and his name is on the very short list."

Beverly looked interested.

"But the big question, Doctor, is you. What do _you_ want? Not your husband, not your children, you. I know I don't know you very well, but it seems to me that you've devoted most of your life to your children and to Starfleet. Here's an opportunity for you to be rewarded, but it would involve making changes. The question is whether you wish to make them."

The light faded on Beverly Picard standing suddenly uncertain on the bridge of the _Pasteur._ When it came back up, the same bridge was full of people, noises and a Captain Beverly Picard who sat, brow furrowed, gripping the arms of her chair.

"Captain," a harried ops officer said, "the Trallian ship has come about on our starboard side."

"Full power to starboard shields."

The ship rocked with the force of a hit.

Watching, Beverly Crusher jumped and felt her adrenaline level rising.

"Shields at ten percent. Damage to outer hull, sections 109 through 130. Inner hull breached, section 125."

Beverly Picard responded immediately. "Evacuate all people from affected areas. Lieutenant, open a hailing frequency."

Behind her, a young tactical officer complied. "They've responded to our hail, sir."

Beverly stood. "This is Captain Beverly Picard of the medical ship _Pasteur._ We are medical doctors and nurses and our ship is on an errand of mercy. We mean you no harm. Your attack on us violates all interplanetary treaties. If you—"

"_We are not interested in treaties!" _

"Then you leave me with only one option," Beverly said, an eye of calm in the hurricane that raged in the faces of her bridge crew. "I will detonate the trilithium that we have on board to power specialized medical equipment. The explosion will destroy both our ships and the burning, contaminated debris will fall to the planet, killing and injuring thousands."

Her voice became angry. "I am a _doctor!_ My mission is to _preserve_ life. I regret that you have forced me to take an action that will cause harm to so many. My final message to the Federation will explain that this was _your_ doing, _your_ fault—"

"_Wait!"_

Her posture relaxed. The bridge crew seemed to collectively take a breath of relief.

"_We will allow you to leave. You must go now!"_

"We will leave immediately." She walked up to the ensign at the conn, touched her shoulder and nodded. The woman watching was the only one who saw the nervousness in the captain's eyes, the lump that she swallowed and the relaxation of her cheek muscles as the ensign moved the ship away.

The crisis over, the lights of the viewscreen dimmed.

Beverly saw herself in her captain's uniform in what she recognized as the quarters on board the _Pasteur_ where Data and Jean-Luc had been talking. Noticing the decorations in the room—a large volume opened up on a book stand, flowers, holograms too distant to quite make out, knickknacks that looked like artifacts—she surmised that these were Jean-Luc and her quarters.

Beverly brought a teacup to Jean-Luc, who sat on the edge of the couch. He appeared to be about the same age as the ambassador that the Oracle had shown the entire senior staff, perhaps a few years younger. He looked agitated to Beverly as she stood and watched him. When he spoke, she recognized something she rarely heard in his voice, especially when he was speaking to her: anger.

"I really wish you had been there," he said. "I could think of _nothing_ to say to him. I wanted to . . . to . . . wring his neck."

"Jean-Luc," his wife Beverly said admonishingly, sipping her tea across the living area.

"He has been around Starfleet personnel and starships for most of his life. He knew damn well that he was not authorized to take a shuttlecraft and fly into the aurora. For God's sake, it was unstable. He knew that."

"Did he?"

He ignored his wife's question. "What the hell was he thinking? He must have thought he could get away with it because his father was the ambassador and his godfather was the captain. Showing off for his friends . . . or for me. Can you imagine my shock at having Will Riker tell me that my son had commandeered a shuttle? What was he thinking?"

His wife stared into her tea and seemed to ponder her next words carefully. "You don't know?"

He looked at her blankly. "No. Why? Do you know?"

A characteristic half-smile warming her face, Beverly sat down next to her husband. "It's just a guess, but, yes, I think I know why."

Jean-Luc stared at her for a few moments, still uncomprehending, wondering if she would tell him or make him suffer in ignorance.

She read his confusion. "I think he wanted to paint the aurora."

"_Paint_ it?" He asked facetiously. "Of all the . . . ."

"He's an artist, Jean-Luc. Painting is what he does. He probably wanted a closer look at the aurora so that he could paint it in a way that no one else ever has." Her matter-of-fact tone indicated that she understood her son better than he did and that angered him even more.

"That is preposterous," he said without thinking. "To steal a shuttlecraft that he can barely pilot, fly into an unstable phenomenon, endangering his passengers, frightening the rest of us, to say nothing of the shuttle we had to send in there to bring them out . . . ." He set his teacup on the coffee table and leaned his head into his hand, rubbing the furrows of his forehead. "If I had ever done anything comparable to that at his age, my father . . . ."

Suddenly he stopped speaking and rubbing his head.

Beside him, Beverly knew that he finally understood. "Your father would have what?" She asked knowingly.

He could not bring himself to speak to her. She knew as well.

"Your father never understood you because you were so different from him." She slid closer to him and laid one hand on his shoulder as the other encircled his arm. "Jean-Luc, your son is a very talented and creative artist. He sees things that other people don't. He has no desire whatsoever to be a Starfleet officer. But, with the right encouragement and opportunities, I think he may one day do something very extraordinary in his own right."

She looked up, smiling to herself. "He reminds me of Wesley. Wes could always see things in his head, technical things. Our son sees incredible beauty and art in his mind. It may be difficult for you to understand this, I know, but it's not impossible."

Jean-Luc stared down at his feet, a pained expression on his face. Finally, he turned to embrace his wife. "Thank you," he said.

The scene faded and the light came up on a large, horseshoe-shaped banquet table. Beverly saw herself, looking very much like the captain of the _Pasteur_, in some type of dress uniform, seated in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a view of orange sands and a bright sun.

"Vulcan?" Beverly Crusher wondered.

Her question was soon answered. At the head of the table, sat a Romulan woman wearing the widest uniform sash that Beverly had ever seen on a Romulan, decorated with numerous medals and ribbons. The shoulders of the woman's uniform were also quite wide, leading Beverly to whimsically wonder if there were a correlation between Romulan fashions and rank. Next to the Romulan, sat a man that Beverly recognized as Ambassador Spock of Vulcan, considerably older than he had been when she last saw him.

And, next to the two dignitaries, standing at a podium, was Ambassador Jean-Luc Picard, looking as "spry" and fit as he had during the scenes that the Oracle had shown the entire senior staff. Beverly thought this scene must take place soon afterward.

The Oracle's sound was a bit delayed. When it became audible, Beverly heard Jean-Luc speaking.

". . . and, centuries later, these two great peoples have achieved their greatest feat: re-unification. With a wisdom that comes only with time, with the heavy burden of creating and defending an entire civilization, its culture, its language, its art, its sciences, its billions of people—with centuries of experience, these two peoples have realized that they lacked one essential ingredient to fulfill their common destiny. They may have ventured across the galaxy, conquered planets, invented propulsion systems and cloaking devices, made first contact with hundreds of races, built empires and federations. Yet they were incomplete.

"Today, the Vulcan and Romulan peoples take a turn on their paths and join together down a new road. Today, thanks to the vision, courage and compassion of two great leaders, this new road, which will lead to ever greater pride and glory, has been built. It awaits only the footfalls of those who would follow Spock and Tisara. At long last, these great peoples have come together in a re-unification that will make them stronger together than they ever were apart."

In her seat at the table, Captain Beverly Picard sat mesmerized by her husband's eloquent speech. Her eyes, shining with tears of pride, never left his face.

In the Oracle's room, Beverly Crusher felt the same pride as she watched the man that she loved more than any other at his triumphant moment. The light in the banquet hall faded.

"Captain Picard will be with us momentarily," the commander at the front of the meeting room told the other officers seated around the table. "She was delayed on the starbase."

The others began to murmur. Some feared that their captain was detained to pick up rumored crew reassignments. It was no secret, someone said, that several admirals and other VIPs were on the starbase. The general consensus around the table was that whatever the reason for Captain Picard's delay, it did not bode well for the crew of her ship.

The door swished open and the captain walked in. Watching the viewscreen, Beverly Crusher could not believe how young she looked. She had just seen an older image of herself, with wrinkles and graying hair, but now she inexplicably looked younger. Beverly could not imagine herself wearing her hair so short, either. Then she realized that the young woman was not her.

"Captain," the first officer said.

"Sorry to keep everyone waiting," Captain Picard said as she sat down. Beverly was astounded that her daughter's voice even sounded similar to hers.

"I might as well begin by telling you the reason for my delay on Starbase 133." The officers glanced at each other worriedly, surprised but pleased that the captain understood their anxiety. She folded her hands together on the table in front of her and, her face completely composed and serious, took a deep breath. Beverly saw Jean-Luc in these gestures. "Two former Starfleet personnel have asked to accompany us on our deep-space exploration."

"Captain," the first officer said, "we'll be gone a minimum of a year."

"More likely, two years," an operations lieutenant contributed.

"Yes, I know," the captain said thoughtfully. "I wanted to get your input before I agreed to this."

"It sounds like opening up a large can of worms," a lieutenant said, shaking his head. "It would be a dangerous precedent."

"It's not standard procedure," the medical officer added. "Couldn't their presence on board cause problems? Would they be in the way?"

"Possibly," Captain Picard answered. "But, both of them have commanded their own starships and been passengers on ships that they didn't command. They should know their place. And, they might be able to offer insights to us, based on their considerable experience. They're not young, but they assure me that they are in excellent health and that, with our state-of-the-art sickbay, our highly qualified CMO and their own expertise, they should not have any medical problem that cannot be treated."

"With all due respect, sir, it sounds like two former Starfleet officers who miss the stars want to use their connections and their history to be tourists on a deep-space vessel. It sounds entirely inappropriate."

"Captain," the first officer said delicately, "who are these former Starfleet personnel?"

Picard paused, looking a bit worried and lowering her gaze from her senior staff to her steepled hands. "My parents."

Beverly saw both a sense of humor and one of foreboding in the woman's face, reflecting, she thought, the emotions that her mother and father, respectively, would express at her predicament. Although Beverly longed to see more of her daughter and her command, the viewscreen quickly darkened.

The sun shone brightly on a large gathering of people. In the foreground, Beverly saw what looked like a large cake, with a huge number of unlit candles on it, in the center of a long table of food. As she watched, Deanna Troi, Data, Will Riker and Jean-Luc approached the table.

Jean-Luc looked wrong. Troi's face had aged and her black hair was shorter and dyed; Riker was gray-haired. Both of them were obviously older, but Jean-Luc looked much as he did now, as captain of the _Enterprise. _When the group reached the table and she could see them clearly, Beverly realized that it was not Jean-Luc.

"Data!" Deanna shrieked in horror when she saw the cake. "Tell me you didn't put 100 candles on the cake!"

Data could tell, by her tone of voice and her open-mouthed expression, that she was not expecting it. "Deanna, is it not customary to adorn the birthday celebrant's cake with a candle to represent each year of his or her life? I have attended many of your own children's parties—"

"Data," Will said diplomatically, "the candles are more appropriate for children. When you get to be 100, well, it's just not the same."

"Do you think that Beverly will be angry?" Data asked him innocently.

Beverly Crusher gasped—her 100th birthday?

Will turned to the Jean-Luc look-alike next to him. "What do you think? Will your mother be fuming?" His word choice and twinkling smile hinted at his own answer to the question.

Beverly watched the man who must be her son start to laugh, his father's laugh. "I think she will be absolutely furious . . . at first. Data, I want you to leave those candles right where they are. It will be worth the price of admission to see the look on Mamán's face." Laughing again, he was unable to continue. His voice was beautiful, Beverly thought, deep like Jean-Luc's, yet somehow more musical. As with her daughter, the captain, Beverly enjoyed watching him. His gestures and speech were so much more animated and less controlled than his those of his father.

Data looked uncertain. "I can remove them fairly easily. The reaction you are describing is not the one I had hoped to achieve with my cake."

"No, no, Data," her son said, gesturing toward the cake protectively. "I think once she gets over being angry, my mother will greatly appreciate your sincere expression of affection for her."

Beverly smiled at that.

Deanna had been looking behind the three other people huddled at the cake. "Here they come! Light the candles!"

Data complied by pressing a button on the table.

Beverly was suddenly very apprehensive about this birthday party. If she were 100 years old, she would undoubtedly be a widow again. This was exactly what she did _not_ want to see. Her stomach tensed. She wondered bitterly if something in the Oracle's program had malfunctioned, for one comment she had read in all the reports of the Assaunian phenomenon was that it showed only positive scenarios from the future. Or was the Oracle showing her something that would guide her to avoid a relationship with Jean-Luc? Was that the direction she should take?

Suddenly, her question was answered, in a way she never imagined. She saw herself, the same body, the same face-with many more lines-and the same long hair, as wildly white as it now was red. She was smiling and walking toward the crowd with a man holding each arm. She only needed one proud second to recognize the older version of her son Wesley—gray-haired, but still looking relatively young and strong. But her jaw dropped when she realized that the man on her other arm was Jean-Luc.

"But he's almost twenty years older than I am," Beverly said in the empty chamber.

At this point in the future, Jean-Luc had aged visibly. He walked slowly, with a cane, stooped over just slightly. His white fringe of hair had grown a bit shaggy and his face and head showed age spots. But he looked otherwise healthy and he smiled the same smile that she loved. Gods, she thought, if he was alive, _alive_ on her 100th birthday—a condition that Beverly Crusher found nothing short of miraculous—then she would not lose him. She would not become a widow before her time again. The longevity of the man she loved pleased and reassured her, but the happy scene before her eyes only made her worry about the inevitable.

As if reading her mind, the Oracle immediately changed the scene.

Beverly Crusher saw a beautiful burgundy and cream bedroom. She was standing next to the overstuffed four-poster bed fluffing pillows behind an even older-looking Jean-Luc. His white, patterned pajamas covered his chest, unlike the ones he wore now, and seemed to make him look frail and ghostly, a weak figure surrounded by white. He coughed and rested his head on the pillows.

"It was so good to see the grandchildren in the garden today, wasn't it?" Jean-Luc asked her. His voice was hoarse and weak and that change, more than any physical aging, worried Beverly as she watched the two of them.

She smiled down at him. "Yes, it was. It's amazing that they all made it here." She walked around to her side of the bed and climbed carefully in. "We are two very fortunate people, Jean-Luc."

A smile worked its way across his mouth. The rest of his face was not able to join it. "They keep coming because they think it will be their last chance to see me. I keep surprising them."

"Oh, don't talk that way, darling," Beverly chided him. "Would you like me to read a bit or are you too tired?" She spoke to him in a tender manner that the woman watching found touching but sad.

"Read a bit."

"All right." She lifted a heavy volume from the nightstand and began to read.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come: . . .

Next to her, Jean-Luc relaxed at first. From time to time, however, he grimaced in pain. The doctor watching this scene unfold extricated herself from the friend to diagnose his condition. Plainly, he was exceptionally old for a human. He appeared quite weak and was possibly losing his eyesight, since his wife was reading to him. His skin was pallid and blotchy in places. His cough suggested a respiratory congestion. Beverly Crusher concluded that she was watching Jean-Luc Picard either fighting a losing battle with Orvesian pneumonia or simply dying of old age.

Eventually, his wife caught him suppressing a cough and a pain.

"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks—Jean-Luc! Why didn't you tell me? I'll get you another painkiller." She folded back the blankets and started to get out of bed.

"No," he whispered and reached for her arm.

"Why not?"

He fought to keep his eyes open. "It doesn't do any good anymore."

Both Beverlys nodded in sympathy and recognition. The woman on the bed moved back under the protection of the bed covers. Jean-Luc had lain back on the pillows and closed his eyes. The older Beverly stared at him for a very long time, her face anguished. Finally, she spoke.

"Jean-Luc?"

His labored breathing continued. He did not wake.

"Jean-Luc?" She shook his arm gently.

"Yes?" He woke easily, accustomed to dozing off in the middle of conversations and being awakened.

"I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

She looked at him with all the love that Beverly Crusher had ever seen in the eyes of this woman, this older version of herself, the visible lump in her throat slowly moving downward. When she could finally speak again, her voice shook with emotion.

"Jean-Luc, I want you to know that I'm all right. I'll be all right after you . . . after you go."

"What? I'm not going anywhere." It seemed it was an effort for him to talk. "Oh, that," he said, comprehending. "Don't worry, I'm not going there yet either." His raspy cough shook his chest, as if contradicting his words.

His wife held his thin frame in her strong arms, resting his head on her bosom. The tears in her eyes hung steadfastly on. "Jean-Luc, I just want to give you permission. In case you think you need it. When you're ready, I want you to know that I'll be all right. Please don't worry about me. You've given me so much more than I ever dreamed I would have. You've made me so happy. Together, all we've done, everywhere we've gone, all we've seen . . . I'll always have that." She was crying silently, her voice cracking up. "Your love will always be with me. Our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be with me. I'm not afraid anymore. I won't be alone. Please, don't suffer for me." She tenderly caressed his face and hugged his shoulders closer to her.

"I love you, Jean-Luc."

The room darkened gradually as though someone were dimming the lights. Alone in the Oracle's room, Beverly Crusher cried. Strangely, however, she felt that she was not crying from sadness as much as from the beauty of the scene she had just witnessed. Her eyes closed, she felt a soft breeze blow past her and she looked up to see the same breeze blowing across the scene on the viewscreen.

The sun shone down on a steep hill, covered with green. The white-haired Beverly Picard, dressed in gauzy white shirt and pants, was slowly walking up the hill, with the assistance of a cane—Beverly Crusher recognized the one that Jean-Luc had used at her birthday party—and a tall, young, red-haired woman. As with her daughter, the Captain Picard that she had seen earlier, the family resemblance was amazing, she thought.

"Beverly, why _do_ you have to climb up there? You can talk to her later," the young woman complained.

"I can talk to her now," Beverly insisted. "I'm perfectly capable of getting up there, with a little help."

"And with ignoring your doctor's advice, throwing caution to the wind and risking re-injuring a bone that has barely had time to heal."

The Beverly watching understood that the young woman, who was now quite angry, was the doctor whose advice was being ignored.

The Beverly trying to climb the hill turned suddenly and regarded the doctor for a long moment. "It must skip a generation," she finally said.

"What skips a generation?"

"The Howard temper," Beverly answered with a smile. "Your mother was always very cool and calm, like your grandfather. But you, Felisa, remind me so much of myself . . . ."

"All the more you should listen to me," Felisa said, helping her grandmother lift her injured right leg up to a stony ledge. "I like to think that I can become as good a doctor as you. And the Howard temper served you very well, it would seem. Famous throughout the galaxy, being mentioned in more medical textbooks than you've written . . ."

The older Beverly looked as though the only accomplishment of any value to her now was ascending the hill.

". . . not to mention living to your age in such good health, apart from that leg," Felisa finished.

They made some progress, then Beverly paused to rest.

"Hey! Do you two need any help?"

The women looked down at a sixtyish man.

Beverly Crusher gasped loudly in the Oracle's room. The man bore a strong resemblance to Jack Crusher, or what Jack Crusher might have looked like if he had lived to be sixty.

Felisa's next word startled her even more.

"Jack! Come up here and help me get Beverly up the hill."

He swiftly climbed up to them with athletic ease.

"Nana," he said to Beverly, "What in the world are you doing to yourself, hiking up a mountain with your fear of heights and your broken leg?" His good-natured tone reminded the young Beverly eerily of the grandfather the man had never known.

Leaning on his arm, the older Beverly immediately resumed her journey. "The leg has healed and my daughter needs me."

"It hasn't completely healed! And it won't, unless you give it some rest, Beverly!" Her advice ignored by her grandmother, who slowly continued, Felisa sighed. "I give up." She took Beverly's other arm. "I'm just going to have to remind my mother of this moment for future reference."

"Hopefully, you'll never be in her position, Felisa dear."

With the aid of her two grandchildren, Beverly made good progress. As they kept moving, though, the exertion prevented her from speaking. They reached the top and Beverly rested. They walked through a small clump of evergreens to a large ledge. The view was spectacular. Beverly Crusher realized that this was not just any hill. Although she had never been to the Alps on Earth, she wondered if her future family was based in France and if Labarre was anywhere near the famous mountain range.

She saw a gray-haired woman sitting on the ground, hugging her legs and looking out at the countryside. The woman was dressed in a brown and black print dress and leggings that covered her long legs and she wore her hair in a simple braid. Watching the screen, Beverly realized that her daughter always seemed to wear her hair short or pulled back, as if she were too practical to worry about it much. She did not acknowledge the presence of her family members.

With Jack's help, Beverly sat down behind her daughter, as close to her as she could get, with her long legs extending around the younger woman. Neither of them spoke. Jack and Felisa retreated. Beverly hugged her daughter around the waist and rested her cheek against her hair, but remained quiet. They sat silently for several moments, Beverly's white hair blowing back in the breeze. Beverly Picard could not see her daughter's face, but Beverly Crusher recognized the mournful look in the woman's eyes. Both Beverlys were surprised when she finally spoke.

"Do you miss him?"

"Every day."

Beverly's soft answer floated on the breeze, her misty eyes following it past the edge of the cliff and into the promise of the blue sky. She did not look sad. The two women sat together for a few soft moments. Her daughter leaned her head back, resting it on Beverly's shoulder.

"You know," Beverly said, "there was a time, when we were on board the _Enterprise,_ when your father and I were deeply in love with each other, but neither one of us would let the other one know."

"Why not?"

Beverly sent a short laugh into the wind. "It seems so foolish, so long ago now." She sighed and stroked her daughter's hair. "We were afraid of our feelings for one another. We were afraid they would interfere with our professional relationship, afraid a relationship would jeopardize our friendship or cause problems with Starfleet . . . . Mostly, we were afraid to love someone that much. Afraid to open up and to trust."

Her daughter lifted her head and turned to face Beverly, incredulous. "Really? That doesn't sound like you two at all."

"We were like that at one time."

"Mamán, I've known you for a long time. Papá and you were always so close. You were never afraid of anything."

Beverly smiled. "We were only afraid of each other. Doesn't that sound funny?" Her face darkened. "More than anything, I was afraid of being left alone again. Afraid that . . . that Jean-Luc would leave me or would die, like Jack did," her voice quieting to a halting whisper, "like my parents did. I was so afraid to love someone that much."

Her daughter looked at her, worried to see this side of her mother. Beverly took a breath and spoke again.

"Those fears kept us apart for more years than I wish to remember. If we had kept letting our fears govern us, we never would have had our wonderful life together. We never would have had children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren. So many of our accomplishments were done with our support of each other. We grew old together, curling our arms around each other every night, waking up to sunlight in each other's eyes every morning.

"Darling, I thank the stars every day for giving me the courage to overcome my fears and for giving me all the time I had with Jean-Luc."

She cupped her daughter's chin in her hands. "Think of all the time you had with him. You didn't waste a single second out of fear and you should be happy for that. The moment you knew that you loved him, you told him. You both lived life to the fullest and taught that to your children. You can't control how much time the universe gives you, but you can make the most of the time that you have and you both lived a full, joyous life together. Cherish that always."

The frail, white-haired Beverly held her daughter then, comforting her as she cried. The light in the Oracle's room darkened, leaving only the mountain breeze. After a few minutes, the wind was gone and the bright pink light of the Oracle's room returned, signifying the end of the Oracle's presentation.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Beverly absently walked out of the room and into the corridor. She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Emperor Gink asked her kindly.

"How, how did you know?" Embarrassed, Beverly could hardly ask.

"The Oracle told me that you would be back."

After sharing an enjoyable afternoon repast with Emperor Gink, Beverly returned to the _Enterprise._ Her head was spinning from the images that the Oracle had shown her and she desperately wanted to talk to Jean-Luc. She could not wait to tell him that she no longer felt afraid. Beverly felt an inner peace and calm such as she had never known before. Confident that a relationship with the man she loved would not ruin their friendship, end in divorce or make her a widow prematurely, she intended to act upon that knowledge as soon as she possibly could.

Having been away from sickbay for the better part of the day, however, she felt obligated to check on things. She had just sat down in her office and begun to review the daily reports of her staff when she saw a shadow in her doorway out of the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw Counselor Troi standing there.

"Beverly, we need to talk."


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV – Epilogue

In the seven weeks since its visit to Assaunia, the _Enterprise_ had responded to no fewer than twelve crises. The crew kept busy delivering emergency supplies, digging out the victims of a volcanic eruption, rendering medical aid to a plague-stricken system, repairing satellites and rescuing a ship that had sustained severe hull damage in a nebula. The _Enterprise_ had just intervened in an interplanetary war in the Brungale system, sustaining mild hull damage and a few non-life threatening injuries, and was headed to a starbase for a maintenance check, when Will Riker realized that they would be passing within striking distance of Xiasia, a popular shore leave destination.

Riker approached Captain Picard as the latter finished his report on the Brungale war for Starfleet. He had planned to make his usual eloquent plea for leave, but Picard surprised him by quickly agreeing to the detour.

"It's been a difficult time lately for the crew," the older man acknowledged, "and they're overdue for some leave." Without saying anything more, he returned to his report.

Riker's second surprise came three days later when Picard told him that Dr. Crusher and he would be taking a day of leave. By tacit agreement, Riker, Crusher and Troi always tried to get the captain to go on shore leave. He had lost track of whose turn it was to try to accomplish the impossible. Apparently, it was Crusher's, he thought.

Troi and Data joined him in the turbolift. He decided to share the good news.

"Beverly was able to persuade the captain to take a day of shore leave," Riker said.

"I know," Troi nodded. "She's planned a full day of sightseeing and she even managed to book hotel rooms for the night."

"Really?" Riker's eyebrows went up. "I just assumed they'd come back to the ship at the end of the day, like they usually do."

"There are very few hotel rooms available in Central Xiasia City. There is a convention of replicator designers and a Sintarkhian family reunion in town," Data said. "I am surprised that Dr. Crusher was able to reserve two hotel rooms."

Now Riker grinned. "Maybe she only reserved one."

"Will Riker . . ." Troi warned.

"So, Worf, any plans for shore leave?" Geordi Laforge asked across the poker table.

The Klingon kept his eyes on the cards in his hand. "I will be conducting training drills on the holodeck for my staff."

"You're kidding? You're not going to let your staff have leave?" Laforge could not believe that a department head could be so demanding.

"They will all take leave on a rotating basis. I will remain on board to supervise the drills."

It sounded to Riker like Worf was trying to avoid taking shore leave. He had assumed that Worf would be doing something with Deanna Troi, but, from what he was hearing, there might be some problem between the two of them. "Two," he said to Data, the dealer, as he discarded a deuce and a four.

The door chime startled the four men.

"Come."

Troi took a seat at the table between Worf and Laforge but she did not seem her usual cheerful self. Riker noticed her mood and made a mental note to check on her later, to see if she wanted to talk or needed a shoulder to cry on.

"You can deal me in with the next hand," Troi said.

"How about you, Data?" Laforge asked. "Any plans?"

Data continued dealing cards to Worf, Laforge and himself. "I will be attending a lecture in the western province given by a retired Starfleet admiral on command styles. Over the years, I became interested in the different command styles I have observed and how I might incorporate various aspects of each into my own. It was quite fortuitous that the lecture is taking place during our stay. Your bid, Commander."

"Data!" Riker scoffed. "That's too much like work! You can't spend your shore leave at a Starfleet lecture!" He picked up chips from his pile and tossed them into the center of the table. "Twenty."

"I had not originally intended to do so, however, given the . . . serendipity of the lecture's timing and location, I altered my recreational plans."

Troi smiled at his reasoning.

"I'll see your twenty," Worf said.

"And you, Geordi?" Data asked.

Laforge considered his cards. "Well, I'm sure not going to tag along with you," he answered. He tossed chips in. "I'll see your twenty and raise you twenty. Actually, I haven't decided what to do yet, but I know I want to get off this ship and take a break."

"I will see your forty," Data said.

"Geordi," Troi said, "why don't you spend some time on the beach in the eastern province? I've heard that the water is very warm and the sand is beautiful. It's a very popular destination."

"I'll see your twenty, Geordi, and raise you fifty," Riker said.

Worf swore in Klingon under his breath. He always does that, Worf thought, of Riker. He looked up at his opponent, who was grinning victoriously. Worf could not tell if he was bluffing. Even after all these years, he thought, the man who is my closest friend remains in many ways a mystery. Worf silently threw in his chips.

Laforge hesitated, too. "I fold." Placing his cards on the table, he got up to get a drink. "Maybe I will take a look at the beach. Thanks for the suggestion, Counselor."

"Too rich for my blood," Data said.

Will was distracted, looking at the sad expression on Deanna's face. She clearly wanted to go to the beach herself, but no one else but him had picked up on her hint. Next to her, Worf was oblivious. As he looked at Worf, the latter returned his gaze and said, "Your cards?"

Uh-oh, Will thought, realizing that Worf had called his bluff. He displayed a pathetic hand: jack high.

Worf exuberantly shouted out a Klingon victory slogan as he slapped his two sixes on the table. He rarely caught Riker bluffing and he enjoyed his win.

The beach was crowded. The couple moved in and out of the lounging vacationers and the playing children. If the noise and the density bothered them, they did not show it. They seemed to enjoy watching the people and listening to the music, the different languages and the laughter of those surrounding them. Their bathing suits and hair were wet, but drying in the sun as they took their walk. They were talking, smiling and holding hands.

After a good distance, they climbed up to the boardwalk and sat down at an outdoor café. The waiter recommended a local beverage for quenching their thirst and keeping them cool.

"Will, thank you for coming down here with me. I know you probably had other things that you wanted to do."

Will smiled at Deanna. "I can't think of anything else I'd rather do than be here with you."

She beamed.

Farther down the beach, a crowded boardwalk featured games, treats and other diversions. Geordi Laforge tried his hand at tossing a ball into a milk bottle then, chuckling to himself at his own poor coordination or luck, turned to look for an ice cream shop.

"Geordi? Geordi Laforge?"

Geordi turned to his right and was surprised to see someone he knew.

"Leah? Dr. Brahms?"

They laughed and shook hands.

"What are you doing here?" The question sounded ridiculous to him as soon as he said it.

"Same as you, I would imagine," Leah said, her usual air of superiority returning. "I'm on vacation."

"Oh." Geordi looked away, embarrassed by his missing the obvious. Did he always have to make a fool of himself in front of this woman? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he reasoned. "You and your husband?"

The engineer's aplomb vanished. She quickly looked away, toward the beach, then down at her sandals. "No," she finally said. "We're, uh, we're not together any more."

Geordi had not thought that he could feel more embarrassed. He breathed a drawn out "Oooooh," before he could stop himself. When Leah continued to look away from him, he felt something other than his usual attraction to her. He felt bad for her. As he would with any friend, Geordi wanted to cheer her up. Although he was unsure what in the universe might make Dr. Leah Brahms feel better, standing on the hot boardwalk, he could only think of one thing.

"Hey, would you like to get some ice cream?"

Leah looked up quickly and smiled. "I love ice cream," she said.

"Let's go."

After setting his subordinates on the obstacle course, Lt. Worf tackled his least favorite aspect of the Security Chief position: the paperwork. He stood near the end of the course, engrossed in the minutiae of the job description he was revising. He knew that none of the junior officers would complete his unusually challenging course for several minutes yet.

For that reason, he nearly jumped at the sound of boots landing on the exercise mat not two meters away from him. He looked up from the padd to see Ensign Sam Cash trying to catch her breath.

"Ensign Cash!" Worf consulted his chronometer. "Did you complete the entire course?" His question was, or, at least, should have been, nonsensical. The only way for someone to drop, as Cash had, out of the metal chute above Worf's head, was to run the whole gamut of predators, obstacles and physically difficult maneuvers he had constructed in the holodeck program.

"Yes, sir," Cash panted, leaning over to rest her hands on her thighs.

Worf observed the young woman, newly assigned to the _Enterprise._ Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail, as she always wore it while on duty. Her exercise clothing accentuated her long, muscular limbs and afforded him an opportunity to admire her figure. Cash picked up a towel and wiped her glistening brown face. For a human female, Worf thought, she was unusually attractive.

Beverly Crusher's shore leave had not gone as she had planned and this situation was causing her a great deal of anxiety. She had taken shore leave with Jean-Luc Picard, her good friend, several times in the past, enjoying day trips to places such as museums, concerts or an occasional dinner. Their time together was always pleasant.

For almost the last two months, however, Beverly had been contemplating changing their comfortable relationship. As they shared meals and interacted during the meetings and social events, Beverly found herself thinking more and more about their mind-sharing experience on Kess-Prytt. Although, at the time, the thought of them exploring their feelings for one another—as Jean-Luc had suggested—terrified her, she felt less afraid now and more certain that that was what she wanted. Beverly did not know exactly how she had come by her newly found confidence, but she felt almost ready to take a step closer to Jean-Luc, even if she had to walk somewhat timidly to do so.

The universe had not cooperated. The _Enterprise_ had responded to so many emergencies and the crew had been so preoccupied that Beverly had not had a chance to speak with Jean-Luc in the intimate setting that she had imagined. The time, she thought, had not been right.

When the chance for shore leave on Xiasia came up, Beverly seized it. She signed them up for a guided excursion into the caves and other natural phenomena of the planet. Even though it meant a long day in the hot sun, she knew Jean-Luc would like it. Although she was not sure if tourists ever found archeological artifacts on these trips, she thought that it might be possible and she knew that Jean-Luc would be excited by that prospect.

Putting her own diplomatic skills to the test, Beverly also had wrangled dinner reservations to the most famous restaurant on the planet, at the largest hotel in Central Xiasia City. It was well-known in this sector as serving excellent intergalactic cuisine and outrageous desserts. After securing the restaurant reservation, however, Beverly had outdone herself by getting a room at the hotel. She had contacted the hotel reservation clerk repeatedly over the course of three days, checking to see if anyone had cancelled. Eventually, her efforts had paid off. When the weary clerk told her that they had one room open and were not likely to have a second opening before she arrived, she snatched it up.

In the back of her mind, she had imagined Jean-Luc and she sharing a bedroom, but she had been far too timid to book just one room. She had intended to get adjacent rooms until she realized the limited availability. When the clerk offered her the single room, she accepted it as an omen. That turned out to be the last positive sign that she received about the trip.

From the moment Jean-Luc and Beverly arrived on Xiasia, things had gone badly. Because the planet's climate was so agreeable to so many species, it lacked a weather grid. Thus, the tourists had no protection during the unprecedented heat wave that had struck Central Xiasia City and the surrounding area. The hot sun scorched the desert land and emptied trails normally full of hiking groups.

As a result, Beverly and Jean-Luc were the only intrepid explorers punishing their guide with their insistence on completing the scheduled tour. Eventually, the native guide's bad humor spread to Jean-Luc, who, at times, seemed on the verge of striking the man. For her part, Beverly wavered between feeling faint and noticing how miserably sweat-covered every inch of her body was. She inwardly laughed at her imagined appearance and her half-hearted attempt to woo her companion with soaking wet hair and clothing clinging to her body. To make things worse, in the cool shelter of the caves, they found nothing of any archaeological significance—no primitive drawings, no artifacts, nothing that intrigued Jean-Luc. She wondered if the whole tour were some kind of scam for unknowledgeable tourists.

Their bag lunch dried out too much to be edible and their water ran out far too quickly. Jean-Luc was bitten several times by the local equivalent of a mosquito and refused to hold still long enough for her to examine the bites. Even after he removed his wet shirt, allowing her to steal glances at his well-defined muscles, Beverly did not brighten. Their shuttle back to the hotel was over an hour late, forcing them to remain painfully in the company of the bad-tempered guide.

When they finally reached the hotel and the desk clerk explained that they had only reserved one room, Jean-Luc almost blew up. He felt tired, filthy and irritable. All he needed to salvage this shore leave, he believed, was a shower, a nap and a place to change his clothes for dinner. As far as he could tell, Beverly seemed to be disgusted and uncomfortable with the heat and with him. She had barely said a word since they had exited the last cave. Although he had enjoyed a few surreptitious looks at certain parts of her body that were accentuated by her wet clothing, for the most part, he simply wanted some time away from her. Sharing the use of one room would force them into a close proximity that would sting with their mutual attraction to each other and their mutual foul humors.

Walking up the corridor to their room, Beverly felt worn down. Jean-Luc still seemed to be in a bad mood and she had a lot to do to make herself presentable for dinner. Plus, she was starving. She completely abandoned her plan to talk to Jean-Luc in light of their various discomforts.

Jean-Luc pressed the door card against the magnetic pad and the door to the room slid open. He stepped inside, Beverly behind him.

When he stopped short, she bumped right into him. Looking up at the cause of his sudden stop, she gasped.

The room was exceptionally gaudy, with bright red velvet curtains and wall hangings. A large circular bed dominated the center of the room. Pictures of unclothed humanoids in a variety of sexual positions adorned the walls. Tables held picture books, jars of cream, bottles of oil and other objects not immediately identifiable to the room's newest occupants.

But what shocked Beverly the most was not the tawdry decor of the room, but the fact that it seemed somehow familiar to her. She had never been in Central Xiasia City before and she was positive she had never been in such a bedroom before. Yet, she was experiencing a feeling of déjà vu . . . .

"Did you know the room would only have one bed?"

Jean-Luc's question pulled her out of her reverie. "No. Um, yes, actually, I did." Her eyes taking in the colorful scenery, she walked absently past him into the room as she inspected it more closely. "I didn't know it would be _this _bed . . . ."

Jean-Luc's eyebrows flew up in surprise at his companion's response. She seemed so interested in the flashy room, which Jean-Luc would have thought to be repugnant to her more conservative tastes. He watched as she roamed around the room, seemingly fascinated by a collection of colored glass bottles on a gold platter next to the bed. Timidly, he stepped completely in, allowing the door to close behind him. His unease was obvious as he gingerly set his backpack down next to a pile of cushions and looked about for the bathroom.

Beverly stood next to the embarrassing round bed. And began to laugh.

Jean-Luc turned to her. "Beverly?"

She struggled to speak. "Jean-Luc . . . ." More laughter. "A mirror!" She pointed to the ceiling, unable to choke out any more coherent words.

Oh no, he thought, this room is getting more crass with each passing minute. Hurriedly averting his eyes, he self-consciously fussed with his backpack.

Beverly plopped herself down on the bed. Suddenly, her laughter stopped.

Jean-Luc looked up to see her reclined on the bed, leaning on one elbow, which had sunk very far into the bed. She tried to push herself up with both elbows, but her arms only sank further down.

"Jean-Luc," she said, alarmed, "something's very wrong with this bed."

He had an idea what the problem was. He hid any hint of his amusement from his face as he crossed the room and stood over her struggling form. He leaned over and pressed the mattress down with his fingertips to confirm his suspicions then straightened up.

"Beverly," he said reproachfully, "don't tell me you've never seen a water bed."

Still worried, she had managed to prop herself up with her hands on the garish bedspread, but she felt uncomfortable as they descended into the red softness. "A what?"

It was his turn to laugh.

His stern countenance dissolved in his laughter. Eyes dancing above his liberated smile, he jumped on the bed, on his back, next to her, bouncing her off her elbows and up and down on the waves he created.

She squealed in surprise.

"My, the baffles are turned down quite low."

"The what?" Beverly was trying to get used to the motion.

Jean-Luc laughed again as he suddenly caught the two of them in the mirror on the ceiling. He kept bouncing to throw her off-balance. Beverly tried to protest but her anger gave way to amusement at her predicament and at its cause—the normally reserved starship captain teasing her like a child on the ridiculous bed. She started to giggle, then could not stop. This only caused him to laugh and bounce her around even more.

When Jean-Luc finally could speak, he looked into the mirror and said, "I must say, it is quite amusing to see my normally very dignified Chief Medical Officer, or" with a gesture upward, "her reflection, utterly helpless and at the mercy of a mere water bed."

Beverly stopped laughing. She looked into the eyes of his reflection. "Jean-Luc, it was well worth the indignity to get you to laugh today."

Her words made him realize how his irritability with the tour guide and the hot weather must have affected her. He rolled on to his stomach and crawled to the other side of the bed to the keypad in the headboard. He turned on the baffles and the bed instantly became much firmer. When he returned to Beverly's part of the bed, he was closer to her, almost within reach. He leaned on an elbow and looked at her directly.

"I hope you will forgive me," he said. "I've been in a miserable mood all day. I'm afraid I haven't been much fun to be around. I do appreciate your making all the plans." He stopped talking and just stared at her. He could not help himself—he thought she looked beautiful lying there, her always elegant attractiveness somehow made more enticing by her disheveled hair and sweaty skin, her dazzling blue eyes pleading with him for . . . something.

Beverly gazed into his eyes and saw more than just the warmth and beauty that they always held. Instead of a passion that alarmed her with its intensity, she saw a sincerity and trust that calmed her. Instead of a long list of fears, of reasons not to be with him, she could only think of happiness and of an enduring, strong relationship with him. After a moment, she spoke, her voice much quieter than her normal speaking voice.

"I hope you will forgive me."

"For what?" Jean-Luc noticed her sudden change, but had no idea what had caused it.

She felt a trace of hesitation, then heard a tiny voice of encouragement inside her head. The voice grew louder and became the determined tone that she used in her professional life. _I will do this,_ she thought decisively, _I will tell him._ She swallowed the lump in her throat but kept her eyes locked on his.

"I made a mistake a few months ago. When I said that perhaps we should be afraid to explore our feelings."

Jean-Luc stopped breathing.

"Jean-Luc, I'm not afraid any more."

He was frozen, staring at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying, hoping that she was saying what he thought she was. As he watched, unable to move or to think straight, she rolled closer to him.

Beverly had never felt more attracted to Jean-Luc and that was saying something. As she leaned toward him, she felt as though he were pulling her, his allure was that strong. She felt love and excitement in the kiss that they shared, tentatively at first, then deepening, as their lips parted.

Jean-Luc felt ecstatic. As he tasted Beverly's warm lips, a peaceful sensation grew inside him, as though finally, at his age, after decades of traveling the universe, he had found what he had always been searching for. The years of being in love with Beverly and alternately desiring and fearing physical intimacy with her no longer felt like a heavy weight on his chest. All the baggage of their relationship had vanished faster than a transporter beam, to be replaced with an incredible feeling of joy.

And then Beverly pushed him over.

He landed on his back, with her lying on top of him, smiling mischievously.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I don't quite have the hang of this water bed after all."

Smiling, he brought her face down to his for another kiss, taking the time to enjoy the feel of her body against his, exploring her mouth, touching her face, freeing her hair from its clip.

Beverly felt her body tingle as it savored the feel of his body. Jean-Luc slowly moved his hands down her sides and around her back, surrendering to the incredible arousal growing within him. She broke away from the kiss to just look at him. His adoring look of love suddenly changed into a sly smile.

"I think I can help you with the bed," he said, as he flipped her over onto the red bedspread, with him on top.

Laughing, Beverly looked up at him and saw . . . their reflections in the mirror. For a split second, she felt another sensation of déjà vu, watching the two of them on the bed in that position, but she did not give that, or anything else, much thought.


End file.
